Facing Forward
by CSIGeekFan
Summary: Summary: After leaving NCIS, Tony needs the team's help. T for mild language. Now complete.
1. Prologue

**Title: Facing Forward  
Author:** CSIGeekFan  
**Rating:** T (mild language)  
**Beta:** Seattlecsifan  
**Disclaimer:** If I owned NCIS, more men would have their shirts off. Thus, I don't.  
**Summary:** I know it's a cliché, but after leaving NCIS, Tony needs the team's help.

**Author's Note:** Reviews are appreciated. I hope you enjoy.

**X X X**

**Prologue…**

Nothing makes a man grow up faster than a teenage girl.

Or so that's what the small town police chief thought as he eyed the strapless dress that hung from the office coat rack. Even encased in thin plastic it looked waaaaayyyy too revealing.

Shaking his head, Chief Anthony "Tony" DiNozzo wondered when the hell he'd become such a fuddy duddy. He'd once carried around a little black book, back in the days before he'd headed north from Washington, D.C., leaving behind his position with the Naval Criminal Investigative Services. Back then, the sight of a pretty girl in a gown would've made him grin. Maybe drool. Now, though, all he could think was that the girl who would be wearing that skimpy piece of silk needed to wear a sweater over it.

"You know, it's beautiful, and it's not goin' to bite," Tammy, his part-time clerk stated, grinning from her desk near the door. When the chief didn't reply, and continued to stare unblinking, she sighed and attacked the problem from a different angle.

"Tommy Hessler's a good boy and you know it, Chief."

Yes, he did know it. That didn't mean he thought Tommy should be seeing _that_ much of his Mary.

It was bad enough that Tony couldn't even find a movie reference for this one without thinking of too-sexy teenage girls of the eighties – thanks to his obsession with John Hughes movies. His brain kept gearing back to the fact she was only fifteen. Under his breath, he muttered, "High school sophomores shouldn't be going to the senior prom."

"And their fathers should give them a break," Tammy retorted. So far, the twenty four year old had been patient with her boss. From her tone, that patience was fast coming to an end.

"She's planning on being out all night," he lamented, and Tammy rolled her eyes.

The Chief had given Mary the thumbs-up on that particular part of the plan, so it wasn't like he had much to complain about. Actually, the couple – Mary and her seventeen year old boyfriend had provided an itinerary broken down into hour segments, showing precisely where they would be and what they'd be doing.

"Think of it this way," Tammy finally said, picking up some files and heading towards the cabinet. "You've got a good girl there, who knows how to throw a punch. If Tommy tries to play grab-the-tit, she'll up and deck him. Then when she's done, she'll haul his ass home to her Pops and let _you_ have a hand at him."

Tony grinned quick in response and suddenly felt immensely better. Those boxing lessons had been a good idea. Not to mention, Tommy was the first boy to pass Tony's inspection. The town might be small, but the Chief had come from a world outside of the small Maine fishing community. In his previous life back in the nation's capital, murder and mayhem ruled more than they ought, and he sometimes had a hard time disconnecting those two very disparate societies.

The worst he dealt with here included drowning, cabin-fever-induced violence (hence why he hated the winter months when the boats sat docked and under repair), and the loss of fishing vessels at sea. Typically, he spent his days making rounds, writing reports, and coaching whatever sport needed coaching at the local school. Not to mention, he spent a hell of a lot of time keeping his second-in-command in line.

Not that he minded when his deputy showed up late, because invariably the young man always _did_ show up. Plus, when the chips were down, Tony could really count on him. In general, the chief tended to cuff him up the back of the head out of principal – a none-too-gentle reminder to the deputy to get his ass in gear.

Speaking of which…

"Heard from Ian this morning?" he asked, and watched Tammy tense a bit. He'd bet anything he'd have seen her wince if she'd been looking in his direction. The clerk could always be counted on to know the happenings around town – she not only ran the gossip vine, she tended it carefully. Which meant that she knew precisely why Ian was late.

Sardonically, he raised a brow and said, "Never mind. I'll check under the pool table at _The Washout_."

Grabbing his coat off the back of his chair, Tony slipped into it and headed toward the door. The morning sun glowed in through the windows, feeling fantastic, considering the long, hard winter they'd endured. Lord knew the townsmen were more than ready to head out to sea by the time the worst of the winter storms died down. Not many from around here actually liked being land-bound. Some deep sea fishermen had spent winter months shrimping out of desperation for a little bit more cash and to get back out on the waves. He suspected a few relished the time away in the darkest months so they wouldn't have to deal with their wives.

"It's gonna be a beautiful day," Tony announced, grinning at the clear blue skies. Oh yeah, every man and woman in town breathed a sigh of relief when the boats finally left dry dock and headed out into deep blue waters. He just hoped he was imagining the darker edge to the morning horizon.

**X X X**

Rounds went well enough. After nearly six years, he'd come up with a route that brought him in contact with just about every person in his community at some point in the week. Not that it was hard. The town boasted only 1,136 souls. Actually, 1,137 souls, considering Lily Kohl had come screaming into the world just a day ago.

"I could really use a big, black coffee," he announced with the ding of the bell above the door at Ruthie's Café. Ruth and her husband Frank had moved from the Pacific Northwest just a few years before Tony, taking the old clapboard shop sandwiched between the hardware store and the doctor's office and making it a local favorite.

Not that it was hard. The only café in town had closed down over a decade ago. That anyone wanted to move into the decrepit building on Main Street had thrilled the town council. And the owner of _The Washout_ hadn't minded one bit that he lost a chunk of his business. The bar's owner – Bob – hadn't liked having to cook much, anyway. So why do it when Ruthie's was just across the street? Heck, most wandering tourists ended up in the next big town over, where they could eat in the comfort of family friendly or high-end restaurants.

"Well, Chief, it looks like it's going to be a beautiful day," Ruth said by way of greeting. Hailing him from behind the counter, she filled his travel mug and smiled in his direction. From somewhere in the back, Tony could hear Ruth's husband muttering profanities and raised his brows.

"He's in a mood today," she said with a quick grin. "Lost a fair bit at poker last night."

Chuckling, Tony accepted the coffee and replied, "I'd arrest him for gambling if I didn't know for a fact he lost to _me_." More loudly, and for the benefit of the man on the other side of the pass-through window, he yelled, "One of these days, I'll get him to bet _you_ Ruth. We'll run off together when I win."

Laughing heartily at Frank's Australian voice booming curses, Tony winked at a chuckling Ruth and headed out the door. It was time to find his missing deputy – and maybe teach him a lesson or two about timeliness.

Unfortunately, that lesson would have to wait. Instead of finding the young man passed out on or under the pool table, Tony walked into _The Washout_ to find the oddest scene. Twenty six year old devil-may-care Ian sat at a table, holding the hand of a young woman who looked like she'd spent the night crying.

Catching Ian's eye and nodding in his direction, he approached the bar to find Bob pouring a couple cups of coffee. After pulling a stool out so he could watch his deputy, Tony finally took a sip of Ruth's brew and said, "That's Esther Cambridge. What happened?"

"Well, Chief, remember how Esther went off to spend a few weeks with her aunt in Portland in February?" Bob quietly asked, making sure his voice didn't carry. "She met a boy and got herself pregnant."

Snorting, Tony replied, "Somehow I don't think she was alone when it happened."

"Naw, but her parents kicked her out," Bob said with a shrug.

As he turned back to the task of cleaning, Tony focused on his deputy and the woman sitting with him at the table. Digging through his mental files, he tried to place her family. Sure, he knew the residents, but some were a bit reclusive. Hell, some outright avoided their police chief and couldn't see the point of having one.

Jacob and Diana Cambridge had both been born and raised here. Their only daughter, the same. From what Tony could recall, the conservative parents tended to be protective, chaperoning their child everywhere. What he remembered of Esther from her high school days was that she'd been an average student. Not a lot of friends. Shy. Never really had a steady boyfriend.

_She must be twenty two by now,_ Tony mused. Then it really struck him – the way Ian's hand had settled softly over Esther's.

When Bob sauntered back over and topped off Tony's coffee, the chief nodded at the couple and watched Bob's bushy gray brows shoot up. Not much took the bar owner by surprise. It made Tony a little giddy when he could throw the older man off kilter.

"Well," Bob all but breathed out.

Grinning, Tony decided not to bother his deputy. It wasn't like much was going on now at any rate. With the town nearly empty and tourist season not yet started, his focus needed to turn to the local school that housed from pre-school all the way up through high school. The older kids would be starting track soon, so his days would become more and more full. And before he knew it, another class would graduate. Some would stick around to continue the fishing tradition and others would head out into the unknown world.

But he nearly laughed aloud as he walked out the door. Who knew his impetuous and sometimes infuriating second-in-command could look gobsmacked. Amused, Tony thought, _I love that word. Gobsmacked._

The next little while ought to at least be entertaining. Ian never did anything halfway, whether it be getting in trouble with his boss or charming the townsfolk.

Whistling lightly as he headed off to complete his rounds, Tony wondered how much the comedic factor would rise if he let Tammy know about the latest events. It would certainly be interesting to see how the gossip would fly. But he knew almost as quickly that he couldn't. That would just be cruel.

If romance was in Ian's cards, the kid would figure it out – and he'd do better without the entire community knowing and turning it into a made-for-TV movie of the week.

Unfortunately, thinking of romance made Tony's train of thought take a ninety degree turn right back to the sapphire blue dress hanging in his office.

It seemed like just yesterday she'd been a pre-teen in braces, and he really wished he could turn back time. Then he wouldn't have to worry about the damn prom.

**X X X**

"I'm home!" Tony yelled as he walked into his house on the edge of town. Tossing his coat over an old chair in the foyer, he strode into the living room to find Mary sitting on one end of the couch, tugging on her shirt, while her boyfriend Tommy crowded himself into the other corner.

And Tony had to close his eyes.

_One. Two. Three. Ten. Nope, counting doesn't work,_ he thought, vainly trying to keep his rising blood pressure from tipping over into a shouting match.

"Where's your sister?" he asked in that low and dangerous _we'll-talk-about-this-later_ tone.

"Doing her homework," Mary stuttered, looking everywhere but at Tony or Tommy. "Upstairs."

Blowing out a breath, the chief backed out of the room and bound up the stairs and down the hall to Em's room, hoping he had at least one _sane_ child still living at home. He should've known better. Nine year old Emily stood on a stack of books piled on a chair, which had been placed on top of the bed, and Tony's heart nearly stopped.

With a quick jolt, he rushed in, grabbed the football jersey-clad girl, and swept her up just as the entire damn network of stuff tumbled down.

"Are you out of your mind?" he shouted, and watched her cringe. Sometimes he forgot she could be so sensitive, this child that dressed in sports gear, played primarily in any substance that left horrific stains, and spent more times in trees than on the ground.

Breathing deep, he prayed for a little calm and more quietly said, "You could've been hurt."

"I know," she replied, making a show rolling her pre-teen eyes. "It's why I put the chair on the _soft bed_."

_How the hell do I argue that kind of logic?_ Tony wondered, as Emily pulled out some pictures of butterflies she'd carefully cut from magazine. At least he _hoped_ it had been magazines and not the stack of library books on her overflowing, disorganized desk.

Laying them out, she said, "I'm hanging these from the ceiling. In the summer it'll be really cool, because they'll dance when I open the window. Kind of like those butterflies in that movie we watched on National Geographic channel."

Leave it to Tony to end up with a kid that was often glued to all-education, all the time channels. Drove him half bonkers, until he found himself one day stuck on a dramatization about the explosion of the Yellowstone caldera.

"I think it's great that you're creative," Tony eventually said. "However, next time, I'll help you put them up."

He didn't wait for his tomboy youngest to respond. Usually it was smart to speak and back away. Quickly.

Heading back downstairs, he hoped to handle the teenagers with a little more finesse (and calm).

He didn't get to ponder it long, though, because not many steps later he found himself in front of Mary and Tommy – both still scrunched into opposite corners of the couch.

With a gleam in his eye, Tony stepped in front of them, put his hands behind his back, and grinned wide. He knew _exactly_ how to handle the problem; and he knew it would be a success when Mary groaned aloud and Tommy flushed pink with the chief's words: "Let's discuss safe sex and sweaters."


	2. Chapter 1

**Title: Facing Forward  
Author:** CSIGeekFan  
**Rating:** T (mild language)  
**Beta:** Seattlecsifan  
**Disclaimer:** If I owned NCIS, I'd have more than 4 pennies in my pockets. Oops. It's only 3 pennies. I must not own the show.  
**Author's Note:** Reviews are appreciated. I hope you enjoy.

**X X X**

Tony loved to stand on the end of his dock in the morning. Even in the worst of storms, like the one that blew at the moment.

Moaning winds crept across the water, whipping through his hair as he sighed in relief. The waves, just hours ago, had risen high enough to have half the residents of the town keeping _The Washout_ open after hours as a meeting house. Wives and children had Chief DiNozzo on the line with the US Coast Guard. Not that there was much he (or they) could do. While the USCG could track the most troubled areas out in the mighty sea, it didn't help settle the nerves of loved ones back home.

To top it off, the storm had reached high enough winds to blow out the power – not an uncommon occurrence. Phone lines had followed within an hour. He'd been lucky to have enough time to check on the girls, make sure the wood stove was stoked high, and head the half mile back into town.

People wandered in and out all night, with the bar's owner pouring generous mugs of coffee and the occasional shot of whiskey.

But eventually, in the wee hours of the morning, the winds had died down on land, although they hadn't yet out at sea. The residents of the small fishing community took the time to pray down at St. Patrick's on Fifth Street, and hover around town for further notice, although the initial panic had eased. By no means were the fishermen out on the wild waters deemed safe, but at least without the reminder of the storm, the people felt a little more calm.

Tony finally got home just a few hours ago to find the girls curled up on the sofas near the wood stove, sound asleep. School wouldn't be cancelled, though. No… even with only short-wave radio the only option of communication, life went on in his town.

Power would return soon. Eventually, the phone systems would follow, and life would get back to normal.

Sipping his piping hot coffee, Tony smiled as the sky lightened through the thinning clouds. Morning was about to arrive, and as cheesy as it might sound, life went on. And thankfully, no boats had activated their locator beacons. No Mayday calls had erupted through the emergency communications system.

His town was safe.

Turning back to look at the two-story Victorian, he smiled even wider. When he'd bought the house on the rocky outcropping, it had been on a whim. Never had it occurred to him that it would become a _home_. He'd certainly never intended to fill it with kids. Hell, his video collection and monstrous home theater took up two rooms. But the old structure with the wrap-around porch had appealed, as had the isolation of the location. His hideaway had been intended as a place to lick the wounds of his former life and slough off the perpetual, bone-deep fatigue.

Instead, his teenage and pre-teen wards slept on peacefully between its wooden walls, safe in the knowledge that he would take care of them.

Then his mind turned to the boy. Chuckling, he mused, _A man now. A Marine_.

In just a couple of short months, he and the girls planned to visit Curt in Norfolk, Virginia where he was stationed. While Tony might have come to love the town, he too had felt the winter-induced cabin fever. It would be good to get the hell out of Dodge for a bit and actually visit a real restaurant. With their luck, though, he and the girls would walk right into a hurricane.

**X X X**

"Hey, Chief," Tammy greeted a short while later without raising her head from the trashy romance in her gloved hands. Without anyone in the holding cell, they tended not to use the generator. Small towns didn't have a hell of a big budget.

Bemused, Tony wondered how she could read, considering the power hadn't come back on yet, a flickering candle provided the only illumination, and the sun had barely peeked above the horizon.

After she flipped the page, she added, "I took the dress down to Rita yesterday after you left so she can alter the hemline like Mary wanted. So, you won't have to stare at it all day."

_Please, God, tell me she's not altering it shorter. It was knee length. Knee length is good,_ Tony thought, and dumbly nodded in response.

"Thanks," he replied, wondering when his life had become a sitcom that devolved into the mundane. After last night's fiasco with Mary and Tommy on the couch, he'd spent several hours wondering if he ought to show the boy his arsenal of weapons. Then the storm had hit harder than expected, and he hadn't stopped for so much as a breath.

Downing the last sip of coffee, Tony held out the mug and asked, "Any chance I can get a refill?"

Rolling her eyes, Tammy retrieved the travel mug and sauntered out, leaving him sitting behind his desk.

At the door, bundled in her coat, she said, "And Chief? The phones are still down. I think even the cell tower took a hit last night, because I can't pick up anything."

Winter might be over, but the winds off the water brought in remnants of the bitter season. Blowing out a long breath, he dropped his head onto his desk and already wanted the day to end. Caffeine only got a man so far. Sleep usually helped, and he didn't see that being an option until all utilities were up and running. So heaving an exaggerated sigh, he got to work.

By the time Tammy returned from her run over to Ruthie's, he'd already completed all outstanding paperwork. To top it off, he'd even pulled out all the emergency supplies and inventoried them. He was grumbling under his breath and about to go after her when the lights suddenly flipped on. Then, within seconds, the furnace in the back room made a thumping noise and heat began to blow out of the vents.

_Thank God,_ he thought. _About to freeze my ass off in a literal way._

Tammy danced to his with a mug of coffee in one hand, and sack that smelled suspiciously like cinnamon rolls in the other.

"Ruth sent 'em. Fresh out of the oven," she said, hoisting the paper bag and then dropping it on the chief's desk. "Aren't you glad she's still got that antique wood burning stove? And that you didn't give her a fire safety violation for not having it inspected when she should've?"

_Oh yeah,_ he mused. _Some things are worth overlooking._

**X X X**

"Hey Chief," Ian greeted with a smile as he sauntered in an hour late.

Purposely glancing at the clock, Tony turned back to his deputy and asked, "Get your beauty sleep, sunshine?"

"Awww, c'mon, Chief," Ian replied, his smile turning to a Cheshire grin. "It's not like I coulda called. Lost the cell reception early on and I'll be damned if the land lines aren't gone."

Sometimes Tony truly believed dealing with his second-in-command was harder than handling Emily on a tear. Both could come up with an excuse for anything, and usually used charm to get themselves out of whatever trouble they found.

"Go out to Everett's place today and make sure he's okay," he said. "I checked his generator last night, but let's make sure he's got power back as well."

"You could just call!" Tammy announced from her position near the door. Holding up the receiver, she grinned wide and said, "Cell may be down, but we've got a dial tone here."

"Then let's get busy, people," Tony said, turning to the short-wave radio. As he contacted the local Coast Guard station to let them know the town was back online, Ian was on the phone with the locals that had medical equipment necessitating a smooth transition from generator to working utilities.

He'd barely signed out and turned back to retrieve any messages Tammy might be pulling from the answering service when he caught the look on her face. The typical smile had turned to a frown.

"Tammy?" he asked as she punched some numbers on the phone.

"Chief, you better pick up line 2," she replied, as his curiosity peaked.

Complying, he opted to punch the speaker phone for the line. The sound was tinny, but crystal clear. And it surprised him to hear his oldest kid's voice on the other end. While he only had Curt for a couple of years, he thought of the boy – make that young man – as his responsibility. Those three kids may not be his in the most basic sense, but it sure as hell felt real enough.

_Hey, Pops? I really need to talk to you, okay?_ During the tense pause that followed, Tony felt his pulse pick up at the hesitant tone in Curt's voice. _Um, I think I'm trouble. Something happened, and… well… Pops, I don't know what to do. Call me when you can, okay?_ Tony thought the call was over as five, then ten seconds passed. He barely heard the young man say, _Pops? I need help._

When Curt's voice cracked, Tony's eyes shot up to meet Tammy's concerned gaze.

"Call his commanding officer. Use the full authority of this office to track him down and give me a call when you have something," he said as the typically bubbly clerk set to work. Turning to Ian, he quietly said, "Get me to Virginia. Call in any favors you need to. I want to leave within the hour."

Now he had to go home, pack a bag, and let his girls know Ian would be taking care of them. He just prayed that by the time he got to Norfolk, he'd have some idea of what the hell was going on. One thing nagged at him, though.

It was the first time since the kids' parents died that he'd heard fear in Curt's voice.


	3. Chapter 2

**Title: Facing Forward  
Author:** CSIGeekFan  
**Rating:** T (mild language)  
**Beta:** Seattlecsifan  
**Disclaimer:** In my dreams, I sometimes own the show. Then I wake up, look around, and my dreams are crushed.  
**Author's Note:** Reviews are appreciated. I hope you enjoy.

**X X X**

How he managed to land in the Norfolk area by noon still stunned Tony. By the time he'd returned from telling the girls he needed to head out of town for a couple days, a chopper had landed on the emergency helipad at the edge of town. A quick hop to Bangor had Tony boarding a flight south.

The edge of fear in Curt's voice kept creeping up the entire flight, making Tony squirm with worry, until he tamped it back down and tried to focus on relaxing. The last thing he needed was panic shadowing his every move. As it was, he'd taken a call (no, he hadn't turned off his cell phone), and the stewardess who had been cordial and understanding at the beginning of the flight had turned mutinous. Not that she acted on it. She'd made sure he got off the plane in record time, all the while giving him the cold shoulder. Then again, carrying a badge and gun often opened doors normally closed to the average commuter.

Unfortunately, at this point Tony had another problem. The call on the plane had been from Tammy.

Curt hadn't shown up for duty the night before, nor for his morning calisthenics. In fact, no one had seen him since before he'd called Tony on his cell phone. That same phone now went directly to voice mail, leaving Tony with little to do but worry.

Tammy had spoken to damn near everyone on the base. And who she hadn't interviewed, Ian had. Any hope of this being a serious misunderstanding had flown out the window, leaving Tony with only one option. The final option.

He had to talk to Gibbs.

**X X X**

The bullpen still hummed with activity when Tony emerged from the elevator. He hadn't called ahead, primarily out of trepidation. He could admit that he was more than a little afraid of walking back into the place he'd abandoned. Of course, he wouldn't admit it _out loud_, but who would? The day he'd walked away from the job had been the lowest point in his life. His world had been spiraling out of control, finally taking too much of a toll. In the end, he'd barely saved a shred of sanity.

Now he was back.

It had taken all the charm he had to get past the aging security guard at the front desk – luckily, he and George had always been friendly. So the grandfatherly man had smiled, said, "It'll be nice to pull one over on Gibbs," and handed the former agent a visitor's badge.

While Tony was positive his former boss, Major Case Response Team leader Leroy Jethro Gibbs would have taken his call, he hadn't wanted his first communication in nearly six years to be over the phone.

Actually, he hadn't wanted it to happen at all; but that wasn't meant to be.

Hiding quaking nerves, he sauntered nonchalantly past a team of agents, noting the double-takes. He responded with a nod and Cheshire grin. Might as well give them what they expected. He'd been such a fixture in this place, with a reputation for the absurd, that it actually felt good to know that even after all this time he was remembered. How could he not be, though? Most NCIS agents didn't survive the things he had – the plague, being framed for murder (twice), being blown up (a few too many times for comfort), rescuing his partner from Somalia… and the list went on.

So he used the distraction to the best of his ability, almost forgetting the worst was yet to come, until he rounded the corner and stopped in his tracks in front of the wall of tall, cross-hatched windows.

Gibbs sat at his desk sipping coffee and reading a report. Senior field agent Tim McGee sat at Tony's old desk, tapping away on his keyboard. And special agent Ziva David sat directly across from McGee, examining something on her monitor. McGee's old desk, near Gibbs, sat empty and looked to house a plethora of techno-geek stuff.

Subtle changes may have occurred over time, but Tony found himself breathless with the sameness of it all.

_And I'm stalling,_ he thought. Wasting time. A precious commodity. One he didn't have nearly enough of. _Time to start the show._

Stepping forward to stand directly between Ziva and McGee's desks, he waited with bated breath until one of them looked up. At Ziva's barely audible gasp, he finally let that breath out, because Gibbs attention turned at her small sound.

"Hello, Gibbs," he quietly said. "I need your help."

He doubted his former boss would ever know just how much that admission cost him.

**X X X**

They ended up in a conference room, which was fine by Tony. It could have just as easily been an interrogation room; and he'd seen enough of those to last him a lifetime.

On the table lay a file of all of Private Curtis Matthews' pertinent information – from his Eagle Scout status to his accomplishments in the Marine Corp. All those things in which Tony took pride lay sprawled for the trio of NCIS agents to review.

They'd just listened Curt's message and read his records. Absolutely nothing seemed out of place, and it frustrated Tony to no end. So he dug back into the questions that _he_ would ask, and started answering them himself.

Standing up, he paced to the window and flipped up the blinds to look out over the Navy Yard buildings. Funny, he'd never done that before – never just pulled the drawstring.

"He was scared," he said, because it needed to be said. "More than that, he called _me_. Not his commanding officer."

"Does Private Matthews have an issue with trust?" Ziva asked from her position behind him, and he shook his head.

"Naw. Curt's pretty open. Small town life can do that to you, when everyone knows everything about everyone."

Tony turned to face Gibbs, frowned, and then tried to find the best words to explain the young man. Eventually, he looked at Gibbs to say, "When his parents died, the entire town stepped in. Each and every person helped in some way, whether big or small, and in that important time, he learned to trust completely. The people around him never let him or his sisters down."

"Sounds like a nice place," McGee said, garnering Tony's attention. "Like Mayberry."

Barking a laugh in response, Tony grinned and replied, "No… more along the lines of Wings. You know, that sitcom about two brothers who run a Nantucket airport? All of the characters are just a little off-balanced. We've got a bartender I deputize in emergencies – so he survives up drinks and then tosses his patrons in the tank. Walter, down at the post office has six girlfriends who know about each other. Should I mention the man's seventy two and shoulda retired years ago? You ought to meet our judge. He likes to spend his time down at what we lovingly call the skateboard park, because he competes on the amateur circuit."

Smirking, he added, "That's us. A dysfunctional comedy routine that somehow works."

"And somewhere in the middle, you've got a chief of police that inherits three kids and doesn't think twice," Gibbs said from his position at the head of the table.

"No one local could take 'em all. I could, and I didn't want 'em split up. End of story," Tony replied, sinking into the seat at the table's end nearest the window. "A kid I've known for six years – a kid I raised the last few years – called me up, scared. No one's heard from him. No one's seen him."

Blowing out a long breath, he steeled himself and said, "Curt's a good kid. His old man served as a Marine right out of high school. Curt wanted to do the same."

Tony paused, thinking about the young, handsome man with light brown hair and blue eyes as crystal clear blue as his sisters'. He'd been nervous and excited when he'd joined the Corp. Tony had taken him to Bangor, and watched with more than a little pride as when the kid had signed the papers of intent. Curt could've gone to college. Gotten a degree, like he wanted. Instead he'd chosen to serve his country.

"He's the kind of man the Marines look for," Tony added. "He believes in God, country, and the Corp. At no point would he _willingly_ walk away."

"So he wouldn't just go AWOL," McGee supplied.

"No, he wouldn't," Tony agreed. "And he'd follow the chain of command. So the only thing I can think is that he's afraid of following that chain. Or something happened before he could. It's possible he was calling for me to tell him what to do."

Because in some ways, the young man was still a kid, new to the outside world. So Tony murmured, "He may not have known what to do. Who to talk to."

Looking directly at Gibbs and holding the older man's gaze, he said, "He's just disappeared. So I came _here_."

It felt oddly calming when Gibbs quietly said, "That was a smart move."

**X X X**

At some point in his tenure as police chief, local sports coach, and town rock, Tony had calmed. Not to say that he put away his childish ways. Why do that, when they provided such fun? However, in the midst of the new responsibilities, he'd adjust his priorities.

Knowing the pulse of the fishing community became vital, as did getting to know the people. In emergencies, they came to him at their lowest, and a sense of humor was often not appreciated. However, when their football team came in dead last, the "Losers Party" had been a big hit. Over two hundred people, besides just the players and their families, had shown up with treats and soda. The bash had gone well into the night, and the merriment relived throughout the long, harsh winter.

_Have I lost my edge?_ Tony wondered as he stepped into the elevator and punched a familiar button. When Ziva slipped between the doors before they could close, he couldn't help himself when he said, "You know, I'm still willing to get a hotel room with you."

"You would sleep with a chimpanzee," she retorted.

"That's not what you said in Paris," he replied, waggling his brows at her. "Or in the copy room."

"And then you left," she said, flipping the emergency switch on the elevator panel.

As the lift shuddered to a stop, Tony raised his brow and studied the woman in front of him. Ziva's features had softened these last six years, making her appear a little softer, maybe a little more approachable. Then again, the years had changed him, as well.

He might be able to pass as lecherous right now (if he tried hard), but he'd stopped bouncing from woman to woman even before he left NCIS. For the most part, his celibate lifestyle came out of lack of interest. Maybe outright fatigue. Then time passed, and he'd grown accustomed to being alone. And found himself surprisingly comfortable with himself in the process.

Yeah, some women in town flirted with him, and he flirted back, but not with any meaning. He was the Chief, and always approachable. They also left him alone when it came to his choice of companions - whether from the desire to see him stay or out of simple respect. Not that they didn't gossip. People in his town just made damn sure it never made it back to _his_ ears. He vaguely wondered what they'd think if they could hear how hard his heart pounded watching the Israeli-American woman in front of him.

"You _left_," she said, and the fire in her eyes reminded him of why he used to be afraid of her upon occasion… and quite frequently turned on. Boy, oh boy, she could be a spitfire. One of the things he'd fallen for. When he just stared, she tossed her hands up and yelled, "Are you going to say anything?"

Questions like this always left him leery. With no right or wrong answer, it was a crap shoot whether or not he'd be able to put it into words the way she needed to hear it. So he gave himself a mental shrug and thought, _Screw it. Just say it straight. Don't fall back into what you'd been, you moron._

"I may have loved you," he quietly replied.

Tensions seeped like a slow-moving liquid, filling up the space with its suffocating volume, until the two occupants moved as far into opposite corners as they could and leaned back hard. Barely breathing.

"You never said," Ziva replied.

"You never knew," Tony fired back. "I loved you – first as a partner, then as my family, and eventually I started falling for you as a woman. _The_ woman. You never saw it."

"You left because of _me_?" she asked, her voice nearly indignant. Her incredulous face screamed _how dare you blame me?_

He didn't blame her though, and shook his head. Instead, his face softened and he calmly explained, "Do you understand that by the end, I couldn't really talk at all? I'd been this carefree man who used wordplay for one-upmanship. I used my vocabulary to get what I wanted. Yet in the end, I couldn't even tell you that I loved you. I couldn't _explain_ my leaving. Not to you. Not even to myself."

The last part, said quietly, left Ziva silent.

With a shrug, Tony turned back to the panel and softly said to the woman behind him, "I was drowning in my words and no one tossed me a lifejacket," before punching the emergency button and sending the elevator back down toward Abby's lab.

He still had to slay _that_ dragon, he mused. The last time he'd seen Abigail Scuito, forensic specialist extraordinaire and Goth girl, she'd punched him in the face.


	4. Chapter 3

**Title: Facing Forward  
Author:** CSIGeekFan  
**Rating:** T (mild language)  
**Beta:** Seattlecsifan  
**Disclaimer:** I don't own NCIS. But a woman can dream, can't she?  
**Author's Note:** Reviews are appreciated. I hope you enjoy.

**X X X**

As Ziva headed back up to the bullpen, Tony aimed his feet toward the music blaring on the other side of the door. Of everyone at NCIS, Abby was the one that could really hurt him. Yeah, in some ways Gibbs had been a pseudo-father to him, but Abby had always been his rock.

When he'd needed the most basic human contact, she'd been ready with a hug. Hell, on many occasions, she'd launched herself at him, expecting him to catch her. He'd been chief of police up for just a few days before he'd come to realize just how much he'd taken that unwavering trust for granted. In a new place, starting fresh had left him lonely; more than anything, it left him standing alone, where the trust of the people had to be earned. Not an easy task for those often wary of outsiders.

Yet leaving NCIS hadn't been a mistake. A lot worse things than loneliness existed in the vast universe. He'd experience it before leaving Washington, D.C.

One day he'd walked into the NCIS building, with his head buzzing with too much emotion, and a letter of resignation. The two weeks notice had turned into two hours, ending when Abby (having spastically flipped from upset and crying to unmitigated anger) had socked him. Some days, it still felt like his face sported the bruises.

Right now, his cheek ached in anticipation, because he was back at NCIS for the first time in years. Years. Not days. Not months.

Part of him wanted to run; but after a moment, he steeled his nerves, chastised himself and pushed open the door to the forensic specialist's domain.

With her back to the door, Abby yelled, "Gibbs! I was just about to call you! I've gone through the phone records."

Not even the blare of the radio could drown out her husky voice, as she shifted from foot to foot on platform black shoes. Heck, she still looked like a sinful Catholic girl sporting tats, he mused. And then she whirled around like a hyperactive ballet dancer on too much caffeine, and came to a sudden, stumbling halt. Looking more than a little surprised. Not that the surprise lasted long, as her lips turned up in a nasty smile.

"Well, well, well," she purred, advancing on him like a panther. A chill slid down his spine, and he realized what a coward he'd become. For a moment, he debated whether or not to run.

This was worse than facing Gibbs.

About the time he reached for the door handle, Abby did the only thing the woman knew how to do – she launched herself at Tony and wrapped her legs around his waist, never doubting he'd catch her mid-air.

"Hey, Abs," he murmured into her hair as she sniffled into his neck.

For a few moments they just stood there, stuck in a familiar position. Funny how Tony had ended up holding her more than once – usually after a close call involving radiation or a bomb.

"I've missed you," he sighed, and felt her stiffen.

In a flash, she dropped back to her feet, and then punched him in the stomach. He never saw it coming, and ended up doubled over, sucking in his breath… and warily watching her rant.

"You left!" she yelled, crossing her arms and looking the part of a General. "You left and you never called and you never said how you were and if it weren't for Jimmy and Ducky…"

"But you've got all of me now," he replied, giving her that familiar smirk that always charmed. As if on cue, she brushed the back of her hand across her eyes, smiled wide, and wildly hugged him again.

That was the other thing he'd forgotten about Abby. She forgave so damn easily.

Then it occurred to Tony what she'd said, and he warmly asked, "Ducky and Jimmy have kept you up to date?"

It wasn't that it was a state secret. Actually, after he'd left, it had been Jimmy and Ducky that had tracked him down. Dr. Donald Mallard, the medical examiner, had remembered Tony mentioning a colleague – a small town police chief up in Maine. It had all been pretty easy, according to Jimmy, the "Autopsy Gremlin".

"I still don't know why you left," she soberly said. He could see the restraint in her eyes, and it impressed him that instead of asking if he was coming back, she instead said, "I want a few answers before you just disappear again, mister."

"We'll talk. Get a pizza and talk," he assured her. "But I need to see what you've got."

Coming down off her euphoric high, she turned to her computer, with Tony standing in his familiar spot behind her shoulder. Just a few clicks later, she pulled up a list of numbers Curt had called on his private cell phone over the course of a month. Nearly all of them went directly to the main residence or the police station. A couple had been placed to friends back home.

Looking through the dates, Tony tried to remember the conversations that had ensued over the last few weeks. He hadn't realized just how often they'd talked. Some conversations stuck in his brain clearly. Like the call from three weeks ago, when Tony mentioned wanting to visit during summer break. The young man had been _thrilled_ at the prospect of seeing them, and excited at the notion of showing his sisters around the base.

"Earth to Tony!" Abby said, waving a hand in front of his face and making him blink rapidly. "You still with us?"

"Yeah," he replied and then sighed.

"Come on, Tony," Abby gently said, when he just stared at the numbers. Grabbing his arm she steered him out of the lab when she added, "Let's take this back up to Gibbs."

"Yeah," he agreed in a tight voice. It was mid-afternoon and they'd gotten nowhere; and his patience was coming to an end. He'd so hoped they'd find some other contact. Some other person who might've known something.

**X X X**

"Gas up the truck, McGee," Gibbs said from his desk, just as Abby and Tony arrived in the bullpen.

The senior field agent leapt to his feet, grabbed his bag, and headed out, with a more sedate Gibbs following. The team leader had just rounded the corner towards the elevator when he impatiently asked, "You coming, DiNozzo?"

"Damn straight," Tony replied with a grin. He didn't think about his words, and some habits that had been ingrained by years of training kicked in when he asked, "Where are we headed, boss?"

As the police chief stepped into the elevator behind the NCIS agents, he didn't wait for Gibbs to say anything, and instead reached back and slapped himself in the back of the head. A few hours back, and he'd already fallen into old habits. Kind of pathetic.

Tony cringed just a little when Gibbs leaned in and said, "Not your boss, Tony." The elevator doors closed, though, when the team leader added, "But it's nice to know I can still make you jump."

**X X X**

"He's a good Marine," Major Emery Ross said as he led them down the hall of the administrative building to his office. After settling behind his desk, the middle-aged Marine propped his elbows up, steepled his hands together, and frowned before adding, "When he didn't show for duty, I had the barracks searched and started asking questions."

"And?" Gibbs asked.

"Nothing, Agent Gibbs," Ross responded. "Absolutely no one has seen him. And there's nothing amiss in his barracks. He just disappeared by all accounts."

The officer glanced at Tony, turned his lips up in a faint smile, and said, "You've got a couple of tenacious people working for you, Chief DiNozzo. That girl of yours had me responding 'Yes, Ma'am' by the time I got off the phone with her."

"Most people are fooled by her Brunette Barbie looks," Tony replied with a grin. "But she's as tough as they come."

"Well, between her and that deputy of yours, I think they talked to damn near everyone on base," the major replied with a heavy sigh.

"Has there been any trouble between Curt and any here on base?" Tony asked. His kids might be pretty open with him, but the young man always tried to solve his own issues first, and ask for help second. Then again, growing up in a fishing community taught independence. In abundance.

"No," Ross replied. "In fact, they all love him. Real leadership material there. I've been trying to talk him into making the Corp. his career."

After a momentary pause, he frowned and looked directly at Tony when he said, "I was going to give NCIS a call today. It's so unlike Private Matthews to be so much as a minute late, let alone just vanish. But part of me wondered if maybe he hadn't gone out with others in his unit – maybe tied one on."

Spreading his hands in a helpless gesture, he continued, "You know how kids are at this age. Underage drinking isn't tolerated, but it happens." Ross's expression turned serious when he said, "Then your people called and I started looking into it a little more. Asking my own questions."

"Is there anything he's currently working on that could put him at risk?" McGee asked, drawing the captain's attention.

"Not at the moment," Ross replied, and continued to say, "but I was looking at his schedule. I'm promoting him to Lance Corporal. Turned in the paperwork for processing a couple days ago. And next week, I'm letting him try his wings. I want him to oversee the weapons inventory."

Hearing this, Tony stiffened and glanced at Gibbs, who'd just sat up a little straighter. If he knew his kid – and he did – then Curt would've followed his Boy Scouts motto. Be prepared. And to do that, he would've spent some time in advance, preparing for the next big step in his career…

"Major…"

Tony was cut off when Ross's hand went up to stop him, and he said, "I've ordered the inventory immediately. I have the crews over there right now."

"Good," Gibbs gruffly said, standing. "Agent McGee will assist."

"And his help will be appreciated," Ross replied.

**X X X**

Twilight settled on Gibbs and Tony by the time they pulled into the Navy Yard. The entire drive back had been accomplished in awkward silence. At first, Tony had been mulling over the facts, a little ticked that _he _hadn't been able to stay behind. As a local LEO, he had no actual authority, though, and found himself resenting being on the outside.

That Gibbs hadn't said a word didn't surprise Tony at all. It surprised _both_ occupants, though, when Tony squirmed just a little, settled in, and simply kept his mouth shut. Then again, he hadn't a clue what to say.

They found Ziva, Abby, and Ducky in the bullpen when they emerged from the elevator. Smiling wide, Tony rushed ahead of Gibbs, pulling the elderly ME into an embrace and saying, "Hey, Duck. Good to see you again."

"Anthony, my boy," Ducky replied, patting the man on the arm when they separated. "Now let me have a look."

Preening and posing under the ME's perusal, he couldn't help but feel something well inside. This man had been a part of his life longer than anyone else. Even after leaving, Ducky had made himself available when Tony developed walking pneumonia a few years back. Through video consults, the local doctor had multiple sessions with Ducky trying to manage the horrendous coughing spasms.

"You are looking much better than our last encounter," Ducky said with his tell-tale grin.

"Well, I'm not hacking up a lung and scaring the crap out of my family right now," Tony replied, referencing the doctor's visit to Maine.

Ducky's face sobered a little when he said, "You really do look well. Healthy. The salt air obviously agrees with you."

Sobering, he added, "You have a lovely family. I have high hopes that my services will _not_ be necessary."

The kind understanding in the older man's eyes had the tension in Tony's neck easing, and he replied, "Me, too, Ducky."

Turning to Gibbs, the medical examiner said, "I am off on a date. I just came up here to say hello to Anthony and tell him that Jimmy regrets not being able to see him today, but he's at a seminar."

Turning to Tony, he added, "And thus you have been told."

Then in the dapper manner in which he often bid adieu, he departed with a smile on his face. While he moved a little slower, and sported a few more wrinkles, Dr. Donald Mallard certainly still showed a level of grace most men only prayed they would have at his age.

Shaking his head in amusement, Tony sighed and settled into the chair behind his old desk. The time of day hadn't slipped him and he flipped open his cell phone. The girls would be waiting his call.

Glancing up to Ziva and Abby watching intently, he simply stared, holding the cell phone plainly visible in his hand. Meanwhile, Gibbs headed over to his desk – most likely review reports. And maybe snicker over Tony's dilemma.

Eventually, Abby and Ziva rolled their eyes. While Ziva simply slid behind her desk, Abby followed. Not that it helped much, because they continued to covertly watch Tony. Of course, their idea of "covert" meant blatant staring. Obviously, there would be no privacy to be had, so he thought, _Screw it,_ and punched in his home number.

Tony sighed when it was his youngest that answered with, "Pops?"

"Hey Emily," he quietly said, feeling some of the tension in his neck seep away at the sound his eleven-year-old's voice. "Put me on speaker, will ya?"

When he heard a click on the line, he said, "Hey, girls."

"Hey, Pops," they replied in unison. Then Mary somberly asked, "Have you found Curt yet?"

Tony still hadn't come up with a good response for this question, but he'd known they would ask it. Blowing out a long, silent breath, he rubbed his eyes and said, "He's missing, but I've got people helping me find him. And we've got a lead, so… I'm hoping I'll know more tomorrow."

"Oh," Emily quietly replied. It killed him a little to hear that little word filled with so much disappointment.

He could only provide comfort in promising, "As soon as I know _anything,_ I'll call, okay? In the meanwhile, try to get some sleep."

"You workin' with your old team?" Em asked, and Tony's eyes darted over to find Gibbs studiously reviewing a file on his desk.

"Yeah, sweetheart. They're helping me look," he replied.

It was Mary, who demanded, "Let me speak to your old boss, then."

Surprised, and maybe more than a little trained by his own kids, Tony cleared his throat, obediently held out his phone and said, "Uh. Gibbs. They wanna talk to you."

Bemused, the man in question sauntered over, grabbed the cell phone from his former senior agent, and walked over toward the windows. From McGee's chair, Tony watched like a hawk, wishing he could hear the conversation. But Gibbs kept his voice purposely low when he spoke. Tony didn't know what the girls wanted to know, but their questions must've been sufficiently answered, because they both chirped happily when the team leader handed the phone back to him. Whatever the man had said had calmed them, and he felt a sense of gratitude to Gibbs for doing that much.

With a round of 'I love yous', Tony ended the call, slowly slid his phone back into his pocket, and sat up straight.

Raising a brow, he tilted his head and studied the two women who had so obviously been listening intently. Giving them a wicked grin, he asked, "Need me to tuck you in, too?"

He never anticipated the slap up the back of the head, as Gibbs' hand connected with the back of his head.

"C'mon, DiNozzo. You can tuck _me_ in," the team leader said as he tugged on his jacket and headed resolutely toward the elevator.

"Hey, Gibbs… if we're having a slumber party, I'd rather go with the girls," Tony called out, hoofing it after his former boss. His motor skills must be getting very rusty, he mused, because he hadn't anticipated the second head slap, either.

As the doors of the elevator closed, Tony's gut suddenly clenched and he felt a nerve-induced nausea settle in. He'd just agreed to stay with Gibbs, without ever actually agreeing. Oh yeah, Tony DiNozzo, police chief extraordinaire, had fallen right back into the "Roll Over" and "Sit" routine once again.

It was going to be a very long night.


	5. Chapter 4

**Title: Facing Forward  
Author:** CSIGeekFan  
**Rating:** T (mild language)  
**Beta:** Seattlecsifan  
**Disclaimer:** If I owned NCIS, then the writers wouldn't writing Tony like he's a moron. Since I don't, I have no control over what the idiots do.  
**Author's Note:** Reviews are appreciated. I hope you enjoy.

**X X X**

Tony couldn't remember the last time he'd felt so damn tired. He ached with it.

Not only did he have the worry about Curt at the forefront, but the concern about the boats on the water. It had become standard practice that after major sea storms, each vessel checked in with the police station, via a Coast Guard patch. The arrangement had become a routine, and a welcome one, when he'd become the police chief. In the back of his mind, he knew he'd left Ian and Tammy with a lot to handle. Frantic wives and children could wear on the soul faster than anything.

No matter where his mind turned, Tony found his stomach churning. So the entire drive to Gibbs' house, he attempted to clear his mind, only to have the leaded weights on his limbs pull harder.

He settled on a heavy sigh, which had Gibbs giving him a pointed look.

"Sorry," he muttered, stifling a yawn. "Haven't slept in awhile. Kinda wish I was an action hero. Batman _never_ gets tired."

Pulling to a stop in front of the house, Gibbs said, "You're no Batman."

That tone of the older man's voice dug under Tony's skin, and he found himself clenching his jaw.

"Not everyone's as mighty as the Great Gibbs," Tony fumed, before throwing open the car door and stepping out. Then he kicked himself, because he'd proven to his former boss that he still acted like a child at times.

Following Gibbs into the house, Tony noted that not much had changed. The paint looked fresh, although it was the same color. The older man might not care much about _stuff_, but he took care of what he had. Tony just wondered when Gibbs would move into the twenty first century, because that looked like the same non-working television in the living room.

"Blankets and pillows are-" Gibbs started.

"Hall linen closet," Tony finished. "I know."

"Then you can settle yourself in," the NCIS agent said with a shrug as he headed toward the back of the house.

Alone in the living room, Tony rubbed his eyes, retrieved the bedding from the hall, and grabbed some shorts and t-shirt out of his bag. Too tired to even bother with evening ablutions, he laid down, expecting to nod off in a flash. So twenty minutes later, as he lay there in the dark, he finally heaved a frustrated breath and rose.

He found Gibbs in the basement, sanding a rocking horse.

"That for the growing Palmer family?" Tony asked as he descended.

"Yep," Gibbs replied.

Rolling his eyes at the lack of words, Tony stepped over to examine the smooth wooden creature. The toy had been well formed with a wide seat for a small child to sit easily.

"Hard to believe the autopsy gremlin's all grown up… havin' his own gremlin," Tony said with a grin. While he'd never been around many babies (his youngest had been five when she became his ward – and soon to be his daughter, once the girls' adoption was finalized), he knew the _fun_ the young man would have with fatherhood. Nothing else compared.

When Gibbs didn't reply, Tony shrugged and added, "He's patient. He'll be a good dad."

The grunting response once again had Tony rolling his eyes… and thinking of his own father. Fathers. He hadn't seen Senior since long before moving to Maine, and he was surprisingly okay with it. That he hadn't seen Gibbs, though, _did_ bother him. For the first couple of years, he'd wanted to call up his mentor and ask for advice. So much had changed, and the challenges were unique. In the end, though, Tony's pride had stopped any communication.

"Family's important," he said, trying to broach a painful subject.

"Yeah. It is," Gibbs gruffly replied. From the tone of his former boss's voice, it was obvious that the older man expected Tony to drop the subject.

Too much frustration and emotion from the last couple days surfaced instead. Running a hand through his hair, he blew out a loud, hard breath, and said, "Look, I know I should've at least called."

"Yeah. You should've," Gibbs sharply said, dropping any pretense of work.

Staring straight into steel blue eyes, Tony opened his mouth to retort, only to be interrupted by the chirping of Gibbs' cell phone. With one last look, the older man flipped open the phone and barked, "Whaddya got?"

It wasn't the neutral tone that set a shiver running down Tony's spine, but the way Gibbs stiffened, and said, "We'll be right there."

Turning to look at Tony, the NCIS team leader said, "Grab your gear. McGee found something."

Hoofing it up the stairs, Tony settled into the passenger seat, securing his badge and gun as he waited for Gibbs. Images of Curt in his Marine Corp. uniform, Emily in her brother's jersey, and Mary's quiet stubbornness flashed through Tony's mind and any fatigue flew out the window.

**X X X**

"Report, McGee," Gibbs barked, striding up to find McGee reviewing some forms with Major Ross.

"Found something, boss… or rather, _didn't_ find something," McGee replied with a smug grin. The agent felt pretty damn happy about his work that night. When Gibbs stare bore into the agent, though, McGee's expression turned serious and he said, "It's not about what's missing. It's about what's been moved."

"Get to the point," Tony said impatiently.

After studying Tony for a moment, McGee nodded and said, "Come with me."

It took a few minutes of weaving past pallets and warehouse shelving before they arrived at their destination, where several MPs guarded some open crates. Grabbing an Abrams tank shell, McGee held it up and said, "Watch this."

Without preamble, he flipped open the bottom and said, "They're hollow. Not supposed to be hollow."

Gibbs frowned as he picked up one of the open shells.

"We would've never noticed if other tank shells weren't located in another part of the warehouse. These are out of place," McGee explained.

"Whoever put these here did so knowing the cameras don't reach this corner," Ross said, fury evident in the set of his jaw. Clenching his hands, he said, "I've pulled the records of everyone who's had access to the warehouse."

"Ziva's on her way," McGee added. "She's bringing the truck."

Standing back, Tony didn't know whether to be thankful for the lead, or punch something. He didn't leave any room for argument when he said, "I'll sketch the scene."

An argument could've ensued. It might've if Gibbs hadn't sized his former agent up and nodded his approval.

It felt good to be able to _do_ something. Tony found himself pouring every ounce of remaining energy into the task at hand once Ziva arrived. It felt comfortable to work a scene again, and by the time they left, several sets of prints had been successfully lifted.

One shell had traces of cocaine. Whatever bag had been containing it must've developed a leak, because the fine powder dusted the inner walls.

Dawn broke over the horizon as they wound their way into the Navy Yard. With a list of personnel files and Major Ross in tow, Gibbs sent Tony down to Abby, while the three agents and the Marine set to work in the conference room.

"Okay, I've got the prints processing. Major Mass Spec is doing its voodoo on the cocaine. We'll have the chemical composition in a couple hours – almost as good as a fingerprint," Abby said, grasping Tony's elbow and steering him toward her office. Shoving Bert, the farting hippo into the man's arms, she crossed her own and ordered, "Lay down. Sleep. It'll be awhile and you look like a stiff breeze could knock you over. Or maybe just a glare from Gibbs."

"I'm fine," he insisted, only to contradict himself with a wide yawn and a growling stomach.

Frowning, she asked, "When was the last time you ate anything?"

Funny, but he couldn't remember. Not that it was important. His appetite had disappeared the previous morning after a cinnamon roll.

"Maybe I'll lay down for awhile after all," he eventually replied, settling in on the small mattress she kept for just such emergencies.

With a bright smile, she said, "This is the way it should be. You here. Me running tests."

After he put Bert under his head for a pillow and the toy let out a fart, Tony laid it on his chest instead, and grinned up at the raven haired woman. As he drifted off, he thought of the people he'd left behind when he'd bolted from the capital – and felt a deep welling of regret. But they weren't his last thought.

As unconsciousness crept in, making his mind float on an ethereal plane, he wondered if Ian remembered that Mary's big dance was only a couple of days away. Suddenly, spaghetti straps on his teenage daughter's dress didn't matter so much anymore. It just tore at him that he knew in his gut Mary wouldn't go so long as Curt was in trouble.


	6. Chapter 5

**Title: Facing Forward  
Author:** CSIGeekFan  
**Rating:** T (mild language)  
**Disclaimer:** I would LOVE to own the show. Not liable to happen, though, which kind of sucks. So instead, I borrow the characters and hope no one gets too ticked off. :)  
**Author's Note:** Reviews are appreciated. I hope you enjoy.

**X X X**

Tony estimated he'd gotten less than three minutes shuteye before his cell phone chirped at him. With a groan he sat up and his blurry eyes took in the caller ID. In a shot, he was standing and barking, "Whaddya got?"

Abby, from her position in front of the computers, turned to watch the middle-aged police chief stride into the lab and begin to pace. If she looked like she wasn't doing anything but spying, well… she wasn't. Actually, her babies were processing, so she was in wait mode. Instead, she watched Tony groggily sway in place.

The haziness in Tony's brain wouldn't process Ian's words at the moment. He was too damn old for this crap. Eventually, he muttered, "Hold on."

With an apologetic glance at Abby, he grabbed the Caf Pow! out of her hands, and sucked in a massive gulp of the highly caffeinated drink. And grimaced.

"This is nasty," he groaned, trying not to gag at the strong, over-sweet taste.

Grabbing it back, she sipped herself, and grinned wide. After shrugging, she replied, "Why do you think I never worry about people stealing it?"

It had done the trick, though. The jolt had made his brain spin and plop back into place, removing the fuzzy quality, and he once again asked his deputy, "Whaddya got?"

"Three boats haven't reported in yet, Chief," Ian said, his usual jovial tone dimmed. Those who lived and worked among the fishermen of the world understood the implications. More than once in the past, the bells at the Catholic church had rung out across the night sky, paying homage to those buried at sea – lost to its tragic and beautiful depths.

Tony hated this part of his job the most.

"Call Bert. See if the Coast Guard has any last positions or if they can try to trace them through GPS tracking systems," the chief said. If he knew his USCG counterpart (and he did), then the man would already be trying to trace the location devices. "Then call _The Washout_. Tell Bob he's in charge of handling the drunks."

"Then what?" Ian asked.

It took Tony a moment to realize his deputy's voice held a hint of panic. Drawing in a deep breath, he adopted the same calm tone he used on Emily when he said, "The best thing you can do is listen. No one expects answers."

Hanging up, Tony rubbed his eyes and wondered how much worse things could get.

"Problems?" Gibbs asked, sauntering past Tony after giving the chief a pointed look. Just as quickly, the NCIS agent said, "Abs. Got anything?"

"The equipment in the field may not have been able to the process the prints, but I could," she preened. "Just got an ID."

Tapping a couple of keys, she pulled up the picture of a Marine in dress blues, along with his corresponding data. "Gibbs. Tony. Meet Sergeant Gary Breen."

Glancing over her shoulder at the men, she gave an apologetic shrug and said, "The other prints were too degraded. Not enough ridge points."

**X X X**

"Gibbs wouldn't let you into interrogation, huh?" McGee asked a couple hours later. The man had never really mastered handling awkward silences.

"Gee, McGoo, this man might be responsible for something very bad happening to my oldest kid. Think I should be in there?" Tony asked, annoyed. Of course, he'd tried to wheedle his way into the room. What self-respecting man _wouldn't_ want to beat a confession out of a drug-dealing scumbag… and his gut just screamed that Breen dealt in the sale of illegal narcotics. He'd been shut out, though, and Gibbs had made it sound like a gift he was even allowed in the damn interrogation room.

"Sorry," McGee muttered under his breath.

_At least he's not stuttering,_ Tony thought as he focused on the man standing beside him in the darkened room. God knew he'd be better off shifting his attention or he'd end up slamming the smug bastard in the other room through the glass.

"I just want to get through this," he said and then sighed loudly. Tony turned his back to the window, not able to stomach staring at the large, young man sitting out of reach. Forcing a big grin, Tony asked the younger man, "So. Timmy. How's life been treating you?"

"Good. I've been good," McGee replied with a shrug.

"Dating anyone?" Tony ask, and then clarified, "I mean anyone that's doesn't require wires or an air pump?"

"Ha. Ha," McGee muttered, rolling his eyes. In the two seconds of ensuing silence, he fidgeted and then grudgingly added, "Yeah. She's real."

Tony watched as McGee's looked down shyly, and he couldn't help but smile as the younger man's cheeks tinged pink.

_Some things don't change,_ he mused.

Even now, Tony took up his position behind the one-way mirror. Once again he stood in the observation room, waiting on Gibbs to perform magic. The team leader could pull a confession from a rock. Turning to look through window, Tony watched the clean-cut Marine shift in his seat. It was the smirk, though, that had his blood boiling. Yeah, Gibbs could perform miracles, and he had no doubt at all that the Sergeant Breen would be squirming soon enough, but he was tired of waiting on Gibbs. The asshole looked a little too… comfortable.

And his thought's turned to Curt. His boy, who could be hurt or worse. His chest ached with the worry, and Tony'd had enough. McGee stopped him at the door, as he growled low in his throat and tried to leave the observation room.

"Gibbs said to wait here," McGee said, holding onto Tony's bicep.

"I don't report to Gibbs," Tony ground out, and then jerked his arm away.

"Oh trust me. I know," McGee retorted. "I'm very well aware of the fact you don't work here."

And there it was – the resentment or anger or whatever it was Tim McGee hid below the surface. The baby-faced agent might look mellow, but Tony had been around when the younger man blew before. He'd just never quite seen this look on his face. McGee looked one step beyond pissed.

Backing up and turning to once again look at Sergeant Breen on the other side of the glass, Tony rubbed his eyes and blew out a long, silent breath.

"Why?" McGee asked from where he'd leaned against the door. "You never really said."

The younger agent didn't voice the _real_ question, though. Tony could hear it in the other man's voice, though. _Why did you leave us?_

"You are probably one of the best cops out there," Tony said without turning around. "God knows you're a hell of a lot better than I ever was… or ever will be."

"I don't understand," McGee muttered.

The smile on Tony's face held a tinge of bitterness when he replied, "No, you wouldn't. You're a writer. A geek that people come to when they need help. You're a great agent. In fact, you keep growing and getting better and better."

When Tony glanced back at McGee, he took in the confused look on the other man's face and added, "I could never be that good." Spreading his arms wide, he humorously said, "What you see is what you get. Not gonna get smarter. Not gonna get tougher. Wasn't really needed."

Dumbfounded, McGee asked, "You left because you aren't a good cop? 'Cause that's crap and you know it."

"No," Tony quietly replied. "I left for a lot of reasons. The fact is that I was fast becoming a dinosaur in a world becoming more and more reliant on technology. It's just a piece of it all. One more chink in my rusty armor."

It hurt a little more for him to add, "I'll never be like Gibbs. Or you. Or Ziva. You have something special that makes you unique. I don't."

Incredulity infused McGee's voice when he said, "Let me get this straight. You thought you weren't _needed_ here. Is that right?"

"Somethin' like that."

"Do you understand the mess you left behind?" McGee asked. "Gibbs and Abby didn't talk to anyone for weeks. It took months before the boss actually accepted you weren't coming back."

After a few seconds, Tony turned to face McGee directly and said, "I never intended to leave a mess behind. Hell, part of me figured everyone would be… relieved, maybe."

Angry again, McGee rasped, "Relieved? Are you kidding? We all walked around like zombies until the director took us off rotation for a month."

"I… I didn't know," Tony replied, stunned. Ducky hadn't told him about that. Not that the medical examiner said much, though. Tony had made it clear early on in their continuing relationship that he couldn't take knowing what was going on with the people he'd left behind. Eventually, he added, "I wish it could've been easier, but believe me when I say that I would have never left if I hadn't thought you could do the job."

He paused before added, "Probie."

Smirking, McGee walked up to stand looking into the interrogation room where the Marine didn't look quite so comfortable anymore. Apparently, cooling his heels didn't set well with the young man, and the agent said, "In case I never said it… thanks. I wouldn't be doing this job if you hadn't pushed me."

"I pushed you hard," Tony concurred.

"And I'm a better agent for it."

"Yes, because I'm just that good," Tony said, grinning as he, too, turned to face the interrogation room. "Be glad I didn't shove you off a cliff, McGeek. Was tempted to more than once."

"Doubt you coulda taken me," McGee replied, enjoying the banter.

"Any day, any time, I can take you, McCocky," Tony responded. "Just tend to think of you as the little brother I never wanted."

The snorting laughter made Tony smile. His lips quirked up a little more and he felt more than a little chagrined when he realized precisely what his former 'Probie' had just accomplished, and he wryly asked, "So… when did you perfect the art of distraction?"

McGee gave him in an innocent look, making Tony bark a laugh. The agent had quite successfully turned his attention away from the man in the interrogation room, and stopped a potential fight.

"I learned from the best," McGee eventually said, and Tony couldn't help but feel a good amount of pride.

He controlled the welling of overwhelming emotion by saying, "Well, I'd say let's hug, but I'd just as soon not turn this into a movie of the week."

McGee didn't have time to reply, because on the other side of the glass, the door opened, and Gibbs walked in.

Falling back into old patterns, Tony kept his eyes on the men when he said, "Twenty bucks, Gibbs does his 'bad guy, bad guy' routine."

"I think he'll do his 'Patience is a virtue' move," McGee countered.

With Tony's patience running thin, the two men in the dark room watched the interview begin.

**X X X**

It was like watching The Ballet of Hammers. Gibbs started off with one good whack and continued on and on and on, until the Marine looked like he would cry any second. The entire process took time, though, and Tony had gotten frustrated enough through the first hour – enough so that Ziva escorted the police chief out of observation and guarded him in Abby's lab.

"Come on, Zee," he cajoled, "just let me go up and watch."

"No, Tony," she calmly replied, leaning against the door. She'd made it very clear up front that he would not be leaving the room until Gibbs called.

For the past fifteen minutes, he'd joked. He'd laughed. He'd smiled. All in an attempt to let the girls guarding him know he'd calmed down. Now he was done being nice.

"Get out of my way," he gruffly said. "I don't wanna hurt you."

Tony realized his error the minute the words left his mouth. Ziva could take him down in one move. So he stalked to the sound of slurping sounds coming from Abby.

When the phone rang, he sucked in a breath and waited for the lab tech to answer. He didn't exhale until she clicked on her headset, smiled, and listened. Every painful, sharp nerve ending jolted to life, though, when the goth bounced over to him and said, "Gibbs needs you."


	7. Chapter 6

**Title: Facing Forward  
Author:** CSIGeekFan  
**Rating:** T (mild language)  
**Disclaimer:** [Insert Disclaimer that I don't own NCIS or I'd be rich here.]  
**Author's Note:** Reviews are appreciated. I hope you enjoy.

**X X X**

After Gibbs' call to Abby's lab, the elevator ride to the bullpen took forever, or so Tony thought. His heart thudded wildly in anticipation, and he wondered if many forty-something burned out ex-agents went into cardiac arrests in the damn steel box. He didn't have time to contemplate this latest thought, though, because the door finally slid open and he strode rapidly to find his ex-boss rummaging through desk drawers.

"DiNozzo. Ziva. With me. McGee's getting the truck," Gibbs barked, without ever once looking up.

"What'd Breen say?" Tony asked. That Gibbs hadn't volunteered the information only served to shatter the police chief's nerves a little more.

"We got another crime scene," the team leader finally responded, his voice a little softer and sympathy in his eyes.

"Oh God."

**X X X**

The midday sun glared down like a big ball of fire in Tony's eyes by the time they got to the docks.

"Breen gave up three others," Gibbs explained as they made their way to the waterfront. "Apparently, your boy stumbled into something. When he couldn't get a hold of you, he followed them. The men on base were couriers. They handled the transport and the money from a cartel in Columbia to local distributors bringing the product up the coastline into Canada."

Unable to form any kind of response, Tony stopped mid-stride, suddenly terrified to step onto the wooden platform that would take them to the boats tied down near the end. His mind raced so rapidly, he couldn't keep a single thought still long enough to focus, and fatigue suddenly swamped him. Sure, he'd felt tired before. Now he just felt old.

"DiNozzo!" Gibbs barked, bringing Tony's attention back front and center.

"Are you okay?" Ziva asked, and the former agent tried to muster some kind of a grin. That he couldn't seem to find one gave evidence to the sheer course of fear running through his blood.

Eventually, though, he pulled his shoulders back, thought of his responsibilities, and replied, "Yeah. I'm fine," and followed after Gibbs.

The storm that had hit hundreds of miles north may have made it all the way to Virginia, but without the gale-force winds or horrendous downpour. Rather, the misting drizzle had washed away the air pollutants, but otherwise left a lot untouched. If it had, the blood evidence on the nearly abandoned dock wouldn't have existed. As it was, light trails of the partially dried substance streaked the wooden platform, seeping down between the cracks.

Tony wanted to hurl at the sight of it. Instead, he breathed out loud and heavy before he whispered, "Aww, Curt. What the hell did you do?"

"Breen said they shot him down here. Tossed his body in the water," Gibbs said, stepping closer to Tony. "Divers should be here any time."

Those few words snapped Tony out of his distraught haze, and had him barking, "He's not dead. How _dare_ you assume he's dead."

"I don't," Gibbs replied. "Doubted you would, either. But I gotta prove he's not a floater."

"What else did Breen say?" Tony demanded, stepping into Gibbs' space and surprising the older man.

With a feral smile, Gibbs replied, "He said he thought they shoulda shot your boy again, because he's so damn good at everything he does, he didn't think just two bullets would kill 'im."

"Hey Boss!" McGee called out, interrupting the two men. "I've got a blood trail over here, leading toward this boat."

While McGee documented the evidence, Tony vaulted onto the vessel. On the metal decking, the light rain _had_ been enough to wash away the majority of the blood, except in a couple crevices where the wall met the floor, so he began a systematic search, starting with the hatch leading below. The lock, however, stopped him. In frustration, he headed up top of the thirty four footer to the captains perch. Under the cover provided, he found a small pool of blood, and his heart hammered in anticipation of the hunt.

He found palm prints smeared on the ignition panel. On the wheel, in dried brownish-red blood, he found a clear fingerprint.

"Gibbs!" he called out. "Got one of those portable fingerprint scanners?"

It took less than three minutes to confirm Curt had been on the boat. From the looks of it, he'd crawled up the old wooden steps at the end of the dock and onto the vessel. What happened after that, however... there were still too damned many questions.

If Curt lived long enough to get on the boat, why the hell hadn't he taken it? Wires had been pulled free, like someone had attempted to jump the motor. Tony cursed himself for not learning the ignition processes to boats. Sure, he might live in the remote regions of the northeast, but he'd never learned the mechanics. What the hell had gone wrong here?

Slowly, he followed another trail of blood leading over the edge of the boat, and his breath caught in his throat. Under an awning, Tony found a large pool of blood. How could anyone survive that?

His heart slammed down with the force of Thor's hammer. Because for the very first time, Tony truly wondered if Curt was still alive.


	8. Chapter 7

**Title: Facing Forward  
Author:** CSIGeekFan  
**Rating:** T (mild language)  
**Disclaimer:** Do I own NCIS? Why, no I don't. However, I _fantasize_ about owning it. Is that a problem?  
**Author's Note:** Reviews are appreciated. I hope you enjoy.

**X X X**

It was funny what sheer exhaustion could do to a man. One minute, Tony thought he might pass out. Then he just got pissed. If his kid did something tragically stupid, like get himself killed, then he'd bring the Marine back to life and feed him to his little sisters. If Tony learned nothing else these last years, he at least learned to be terrified of angry children. Especially his.

Walking down the docks, escorted by Gibbs, he snorted at the cruel humor. He'd been back in the capital for less than two days, and the cynicism he'd left behind had settled in already, like an old friend holding out a sake bomb and shouting, _Welcome Home_.

"Don't make assumptions," Gibbs said, eying the younger man. "We don't know where your boy is yet."

"Not makin' assumptions, Boss," Tony promptly replied, and winced. Crap, he was falling back into patterns in a bad way. About that time, he realized he'd just followed Gibbs' lead, right to sedan, and asked, "Where are we going?"

"Office. Not much you can do right now," Gibbs replied.

Pushing away darker thoughts, Tony purposefully grinned, noting how even his cheeks hurt, and said, "Sure there is. I can regale you with stories of small town living all the way back to the lab. It's only about an hour, right? I'm sure you'd _love_ that, wouldn't you, Gibbs? Kinda like having me back on the payroll."

This time, he expected the head slap.

**X X X**

While Gibbs took Tony back to the Navy Yard, Ziva and McGee completed processing the scene. Somewhere along the way, Tony finally fell asleep and managed over half an hour of shuteye before Gibbs shook him awake in the passenger seat of the car.

"I'm up," Tony barked, jolting upright and looking around, totally groggy. Sluggishness wrapped his brain up tight, so he had to seriously concentrate just to ask, "Where are we?"

Amused, Gibbs replied, "We're home, honey."

Within minutes, Tony was led into Abby's lab, and seconds later, he dropped onto the mattress still laid out in her office floor. And then left blessedly alone in the dim room.

"He looks like crap, Gibbs. Fix it," Abby demanded, just within earshot.

"Not much I can do, Abs, except let him sleep a little," the older man mildly responded.

As if on command, Tony's entire brain shut down and he drifted off into dreams. At first, his unconscious mind rendered images of people he'd once known – Kate and Paula being the most prominent. They smiled and talked of inconsequential things, flirting a little and bantering pleasantly. Not that this was new – Tony'd had this dream many times before in one variation or another. More than once, he'd tried to talk them into a little girl-on-girl action, only to have them both slap him awake.

For some strange reason, this led to dreams featuring talking fish. Charlie the Tuna had the body of the cartoon character, and Mary's face, smiling bright. Kind of like the year she played a mermaid in the school play.

Before long, though, his mind turned to _all _his kids. He was sitting in a football stadium, or at least what resembled a stadium. The one in their town was more like a small set of bleachers lining some grass settled on top of mud. Tony could actually feel the ice cold seat under his butt, and taste the salt air on his tongue. Excitement coursed through every nerve as the play started. Curt threw the ball nearly eighty yards… to no one in particular. All seemed lost, when out of nowhere, little Emily ran out onto the field to jump ten feet high and catch it for a touchdown.

Deafening cheers filled the air, but gradually died down. Out of nowhere, lining the entire field, fishermen and their families sang a sad, melodic tune about death on the high seas, and the sadness of loss. Standing at attention, stiff boat captains applauded ferociously as the victors held up young Emily for all to laud.

And somewhere in his mind, Tony's brain clicked.

Sitting up with a start, he thrashed around and ran out into the lab.

"Where's Gibbs?" he asked a startled Abby.

"Upstairs. What's up?" she asked.

He darted out of the room without responding, leaving the bewildered lab tech to pick up the phone.

**X X X**

"Ya look like crap, DiNozzo," Gibbs mildly stated from his chair. The older man had leaned back, and been watching Tony pace from the windows to his desk for several minutes. Back and forth. Back and forth.

Instead of responding, Tony used the few minutes to try and clear his head. And eat. As soon as he'd walked into the bullpen, Gibbs had tossed a sandwich at him, and he'd been chewing as he tried to work out everything in his mind. Dreams did that to him. He took them figuratively (because in reality, he'd never get _any_ of the women in his degenerate brain to strip for him).

That kick in the gut the dream had roused had turned to uncertainty as it faded with consciousness. Considering how little sleep he'd had lately, could he have confused a nightmare with an idea? _Something_ had woken him.

"Spit it out," Gibbs commanded, his humor fading with Tony's rapid turns.

"I don't know," he admitted, feeling more than a little moronic. "Had a dream. Seemed important enough at the time."

Gibbs opened his mouth to retort, but instead asked, "You gonna get that?"

Realizing his cell phone was blaring at him, Tony sighed and checked the caller ID.

"What's up, Ian?"

"Just wanted to let you know that Bert's got Coast Guard boats in the water right now," the deputy replied.

"That's the best we can do," Tony said, calming a little. This was the first time Ian had been put in charge of handling the fraying nerves of the loved-ones. He, himself, had been a veteran cop, with well over a decade of experience and found it unnerving at best the first time _he'd_ had to handle the people gathered at _The Washout_.

"Bob helping?" he asked, referencing the owner and bartender down the street. The man might be gruff, but he stepped up when needed, and without question.

"Yeah," Ian replied with a grateful sigh. "Helped a lot. Been talkin' people down for me." A short pause greeted the police chief before the deputy continued, "Never understood before. Not really. Now I don't want your job. Just your paycheck."

Chuckling, Tony shook his head a little and felt something inside him ease. If Ian felt he could show at least a little humor, the world wasn't about to end back home. One less pound of pressure on his skull.

"Who are the missing captains?" Tony asked, realizing he hadn't inquired before.

"Truman, Goldstein, and… um…"

"Spit it out, Ian," Tony said, as the deputy hesitated. This couldn't be good.

"The third captain's Chamberlain."

Two things happened at once. Actually, three, but Tony never counted hanging up on his deputy an "event" or a "thing" as it was a regular occurrence.

First, at hearing the last captain's name, he felt bile rise in his throat. And second… the dream hit him full force.

Standing there stunned, he let the buzzing in his head die down to a low-grade, irritating hum in his brain. Then he looked straight at Gibbs and said, "I want to cry. I want to laugh. And if I cry until I laugh, it'll be too much like _Sleepless In Seattle_, and that's not good. Know why, boss?"

Gibbs just gave him a baleful look, until Tony snorted humorously and added, "Because my life isn't a romantic comedy."

"Well, I coulda told you that, Tony," Gibbs replied with a mellow shrug.

"My life is a drama, though," Tony went on to add, ignoring Gibbs altogether. Stuck in his own mind, he let the puzzle pieces fall into place. One by one they did, until he snapped out of the stupor and smiled.

"Any chance I can borrow Ducky?"

"Why?" Gibbs inquired, sitting up and looking more than a little interested.

"Because I think I know where Curt is," Tony replied. He didn't know if he was dead or alive, but he had a clue what had happened after the young Marine had been shot. "If I'm right, I might need some of Ducky's magic."

"Where are you planning on taking him?" Gibbs asked, now standing and sliding into his jacket.

"Maine. I'm going home."


	9. Chapter 8

**Title: Facing Forward  
Author:** CSIGeekFan  
**Rating:** T (mild language)  
**Disclaimer:** I can't think of a creative disclaimer. How sad is that? So how about this – I don't own NCIS, except in my own mind. And in my own mind, boy oh boy, is it smokin' hot.  
**Author's Note:** Reviews are appreciated. I hope you enjoy.

**X X X**

Night had begun its descent on his little town when Tony pulled up in front of the old Victorian home. The spring evening had cooled the salt air, and he stood for a moment next to his open SUV door to appreciate the crispness. If he knew the girls, they'd be getting ready to eat dinner. He'd learned early on that a consistent routine kept chaos at bay.

"This is a big house," Ziva said as she approached from behind.

"Big enough," Tony said with a shrug. Looking around, he noted Ducky and Gibbs walking around to join him, so he slammed the vehicle door and started for the porch.

If he knew his girls, they'd be in the kitchen, eating dinner or studying. From there, they could look out the wall of windows and admire the waves crashing on the rocky outcropping along the shore. Emily loved the little nook with the bay window to read after the sky darkened, because about this time of night, stars began to sparkle. His youngest had a story for each.

"You can drop your stuff on the bench in the hall," Tony told Ducky as he opened the front door and walked inside. Leading them to the living room just off the foyer, he murmured, "I'll be right back."

He could hear voices just beyond the swinging door that led to the kitchen, and he was elated to see them, yet… he didn't have the news they'd want to hear. Quietly, he opened the door and watched his girls as they sat with their backs to him.

Frowning, he took in the third person in the room and sighed. Esther Cambridge sat at the end of the table, mournfully looking out to sea. This wouldn't be the first time he'd taken in someone because they'd fallen on hard luck. Considering her family had just kicked her out upon finding out she was pregnant, it really shouldn't have surprised him to find her at his table. Heck, last year, the mayor had moved in because his wife had found the mayor in bed with a tourist who'd wandered into their hamlet. For four months, Tony'd had to avoid the man under his own damn roof.

Clearing his throat, he waited for the girls to turn. Emily squealed. Both girls darted over to him and hugged him tight. It was a kick in the gut when they began to look around, expecting to see Curt.

"I haven't found him yet," Tony quietly said, hugging both girls close. "But I _will_ find him. And soon."

Glancing at Esther, he softly asked, "Can I have a few minutes?"

Ducking her head shyly, the young woman rose from the table and headed up the back stairs, out of the kitchen to the second floor hallway. Once she'd left earshot, Tony walked the girls back over to the table and sat, putting him closer to eye level with Emily, and looking up to Mary.

"He's been hurt," he said without preamble. "Don't know how bad it is. And right now, I think he's heading home."

"Here?" Mary asked, perplexed.

"Yeah," he replied. Grasping a hand of each, he squeezed lightly, steeled his gaze, and firmly said, "He's heading home, and I'm gonna find him, because I brought help."

Rising, he smiled and added, "In fact, I'd like you to meet them."

While Emily held onto his hand with a terrified death-grip, Tony felt an immense amount of pride in Mary. The teenager pulled her shoulders back and strode into the living room beside him with a level of grace and maturity one rarely saw in a fifteen year old.

**X X X**

The girls had finished eating, and Tony had pulled maps onto the kitchen table where they all gathered. Esther, for her part, had made herself scarce, until Tony talked to her. He'd initially thought to just leave her in her room, but the angel and devil on his shoulders had done battle and the angel had won. Then, he'd sighed heavily and loudly in the empty hall, knocked on her bedroom door, and told her she didn't need to hide in her room. That she was more than welcome to join them.

After all, the girls had already informed the young woman that she was now a member of the family, since she was living there.

Since then, Esther had been pouring coffee for the agents, chief, and deputy.

"Sit down," Tony ordered, before softening his tone and adding, "You look exhausted."

The chagrined look on her typically stoic face surprised him, as did the way his wayward deputy stumbled out of his own chair and offered it to her.

Rolling his eyes, Tony stood, looked at Ian, and said, "If you're done trying to woo the fair maiden here, do you think you can grab the map of the islands south of here?"

He nearly laughed when the young man's face turned red and he headed off to the study.

"What are you thinking?" Ziva asked as Tony focused in on a small set of craggy islands.

Glancing around the table, he made a point to look them each in the eye, while Ian returned and laid out a large map. Laying it out flat, he studied the chart for just a moment before answering.

"I think there's more to the story," Tony said. "Something must've gone wrong for three boats to respond to a distress call. On top of that, if any of them felt safe, at least one of 'em would've called in by now. Especially Captain Chamberlain."

"Why?" Gibbs asked before taking a gulp of hot coffee.

"Because Mike wouldn't want the girls and me to worry," Tony replied, rubbing his eyes.

"No, she wouldn't," Emily said from the bottom step leading into the kitchen from the second floor. Stepping into the room, dressed in an old football jersey and a pair of sweats, the child said, "Mike doesn't like to worry Pops. She always checks in."

"She?" Ziva asked, amused.

Feeling his ears warm up, Tony tried to tamp down the flush of embarrassment creeping its way up his cheeks. He cleared his throat, and tried to be nonchalant, when he said, "Uh, yeah. She. Michaela. Mike for short. She, uh, sorta lives here."

"How does one 'sorta' live here?" Gibbs asked, amusement etched in his features.

"Mike lives here most the time, except when she and Pops get on each others nerves. Then she goes to her own place for a month or two. Especially in the winter, 'cause Mike can't take the way Pops constantly quotes movies or the History channel at her," Emily explained, settling onto the little reading bench under the bay window.

While everyone looked at the little girl in amusement, she shrugged her shoulders and said, "Hey, it's better than when he quotes the weather channel. Last time he did that, she took Mary to Portland for two weeks over Christmas break."

Wincing at the picture his child was drawing in everyone's minds, Tony defended himself and said, "Hey. All I did was tell her what the seas looked like."

"You shoulda known she wouldn't take it well when you _forbade_ her from going out in the lobster boats, though," Emily said with a smile. "But Mary got a prom dress out of the trip."

"I take it this… Mike is your love interest?" Ziva asked lightly, making Tony frown.

This time, Ian looked on with a grin and said, "Yeah. During the winter, they keep the town fed with gossip."

After slapping his deputy up the back of the head, Tony turned his attention to Emily and asked, "What are you doing down here? You have a book report due tomorrow."

Everything else in the world faded around him, though, when his little hellion walked over, hugged him tight and said, "I forgot to say welcome home and I love you."

Then she was gone – taking the stairs two at a time.

"I've said it before," Ducky quietly said from where he watched all the action. "You have a beautiful family."

"Yeah, Duck. I do," Tony concurred.

For a moment, he simply stared at the empty stairwell, smiling. He'd never say it aloud, but even _he_ recognized when he'd been firmly wrapped around a little finger. Until someone could find a way to present undeniable proof, he'd deny it til his dying day, though.

It was Gibbs who pulled him back to the present, when he asked, "Got a plan?"

Turning back to focus on the maps, Tony thought of the girls upstairs, smiled ferociously as every protective instinct kicked in, and said, "Yeah. And we need to leave within the hour."


	10. Chapter 9

**Title: Facing Forward  
Author:** CSIGeekFan  
**Rating:** T (mild language)  
**Disclaimer:** I don't own NCIS. Do I seriously need to actually say that? For crying out loud, if I owned NCIS, I wouldn't feel the need to write fan fiction.  
**Author's Note:** Reviews are appreciated. I hope you enjoy.

**X X X**

They settled along the craggy shoreline of the small island chain Tony had shown them on a map. From a small alcove, they could see anything coming from miles away.

Before ever wending their way through the treacherous waters, retired fishing Captain John Granger had flipped off all but the below-deck interior lights, and had navigated in pitch black, where he anchored.

They'd been nestled out of sight for half an hour already, and Tony felt his nerves fray more with every passing moment. He had not idea _when_ to expect something to happen, but every ounce of him believed it would be tonight, under the cover of darkness.

The only thing that kept him from worrying a path on the deck was the fact that every time the boat tilted precariously, due to heavy waves, he thought he might heave-ho right over the side. He'd never been fond of time on the water. His time as agent afloat had certainly confirmed that, and this experience sure as hell wasn't endearing him.

Standing on deck with Gibbs, Tony nervously said, "You know, the night the Titanic went down, it was so dark that no one could really tell the difference between wide-open seas and a big ass iceberg."

"No ice bergs here," Gibbs said, leaning casually against the rail, while Tony held on with an anxiety-driven death grip.

"No, there are big rocks here. Somehow, that makes it worse," Tony muttered as a wave whipped up the side of the boat, making it rock hard. Back and forth, side to side. The water didn't calm for a moment, but when it did, he let out a sigh of relief and wryly added, "An ice berg could pop up right now, and the only way I'd know is if I heard the band playing on deck."

"No violins here, DiNozzo," Gibbs said, before tapping the railing. "Goin' below. Wanna go over the plan with the captain."

With those few words, Tony was left alone on deck, pondering the sound of crashing waves around him. At least the moon shone just enough to outline the splashing foam as it slammed against the shoreline, although it still made him nervous.

He jumped at the feel of a hand on his shoulder, and sighed as Ziva stepped into Gibbs' vacated place.

She settled her arms on the railing next to Tony.

"It is beautiful," she murmured. "Dangerous, yet beautiful."

"I know," he said, turning to face the former Israeli Mossad agent. "We lose tourists here every year. Signs are posted all over the place. Hazard buoys line the chain of rocks, and amateurs still try to maneuver onto shore with yachts and small charters. Darwin's theory at work."

Those accidents typically happened during the day, though. Not even locals tried to land at night. Not until now. Even Captain Granger had balked at the notion, until Tony had explained the plan – explained in full the lives at risk.

"Are you sure Private Matthews will be here?" Ziva quietly asked.

"Yeah, I am," Tony replied, turning to face his former partner. "It makes sense… and my gut's telling me I'm right."

For several minutes, he studied his former partner in the dark. The silence that settled over them had nothing to do with comfort. In reality, he had things he wanted to say – things he wanted to tell her. She effectively broke the silence, though.

"This… Mike… must be quite something," Ziva nonchalantly said.

Thinking of his best friend and sometimes-lover, Tony grinned and turned to look out over the water and rocks. Michaela loved everything about the sea. The treachery of it. The beauty of it. And more than anything, the _life_ of it. To her and so many other New England fishermen, the ocean represented everything worth living for.

"Yeah," he eventually replied. "You could say that. Mike is… different. Tough, smart, and independent."

"It sounds like you are happy together," she said, making Tony bark a laugh.

"We're content," he replied. "We're friends, and we live together a lot of the time. She spends more than half the year out here where she feels most at home. I keep my feet planted on land whenever possible. And when we're together, it's comfortable."

He didn't know how to add that sometimes settling isn't a bad thing – that keeping loneliness at bay is worth giving up the dream of a soul mate. Even more, he didn't know how to explain that the reassurance of just having someone around could make all the difference.

"I guess, in a lot of ways, I do love Michaela," he softly admitted. He glanced at Ziva and smiled sadly when he added, "She's not the love of my life, though. And I'm not hers. That's not what we get from each other."

"What do you get?" Ziva quietly asked, her voice tinged with a hint of sadness.

"I get someone I know will be happy spending my life around, even though she'll never be all mine," he replied. It calmed him to say it out loud, he realized, and he added, "I'm actually okay with that."

Silence fell between them as the sound of water lapping against the boat filled the air. So much had been left unsaid between them when he'd left. For the longest time after he'd fled the city, Tony had let it eat at him – what he would say if he saw Ziva again. Then time had worked its magic, and some of the pain had faded, and he'd let other things take its place. So he'd stopped actively searching for the words.

Funny, that he should find them in that very moment, standing on the bow of the rocking boat.

In the dark, he reached out and felt a familiar little jolt when he ran his hand down Ziva's arm, until he reached her fingers and held her hand. Now, though, the spark felt good, rather than dreaded. Because now he had the words.

"If we'd really been meant for each other, Ziva we would've worked for it. Found a way," he said. While he couldn't see her face in the dark of night, just enough moonlight silhouetted her features, and he watched her turn her face toward the water.

It seemed eternity ebbed and flowed past before she quietly responded, "Perhaps you are right."

A hidden, perpetually existent tension shook away with the rocking of the boat, and a companionable silence settled between them. Closing his eyes against the night sky, he tilted his face and let the tang of the air wash down his nostrils.

When Ziva leaned in and kissed him on the cheek, he smiled wide, turned his head; and captured her lips, languidly indulging. Because it would be the last time he ever looked at her that way and they both knew it.

"Thank you," he whispered, when they separated.

"You are welcome," she murmured before drawing away and heading back below deck.

Alone, Tony made his way to the bow and stood at its peak. Stars shone above. Everywhere else, blackness thickened the air, blocking out everything but constantly moving seas.

And somewhere out there, three boats made their way in his direction. He just hoped they didn't bring a storm.


	11. Chapter 10

**Title: Facing Forward  
Author:** CSIGeekFan  
**Rating:** T (mild language)  
**Disclaimer:** I don't own NCIS. There. I said it. Happy now?  
**Author's Note:** I want to thank everyone for the wonderful reviews. They're very much appreciated. I hope you enjoy this chapter.

**X X X**

"Anthony, while I am sympathetic with the predicament, pacing is not going to help," Ducky quietly said from his position near the bow.

He'd been waiting in the cove in silence for way too damn long. It had started with a sense of anticipation – and he was honest enough to admit he'd missed the adrenaline rush of cases back in his NCIS days. However, that had given way to tedium, and impatience.

Not much had changed over the years. He still hated waiting.

What had begun to creep up as nagging concern had long ago turned to full-blown worry by the time Ducky found him in the dark.

With only a miniscule amount of moonlight to guide his footsteps, Tony paced a few steps, turned and paced back. Over and over again. Nothing Ducky said in the unsettled night could calm the anxious police chief.

"Most movies have a climax," Tony muttered, before coming to a stop in front of his elderly friend. Blowing out a breath, he muttered, "I don't think I can take just waiting. Something's gotta happen."

Patiently, Ducky smiled, and quietly replied, "That is true, dear boy. And something _will_ happen." Once the older man knew he had Tony's attention, he added, "But rest assured that I have _never_ heard of the hero suffering cardiac arrest while on a stake out."

For the first time in forever, Tony relaxed and smiled at his friend. Even in the dark, when he couldn't even see anything more than a faint outline, Ducky could calm him. Funny how some things never changed.

Thinking back over all the times the old medical examiner had come to his aide, Tony said, "Hey Ducky… Thanks. For everything."

"Ahhh, my dearest Anthony, you are quite welcome." Tony smirked when Ducky rubbed his hands together in the dark and excitedly said, "It's been quite some time since I've been in the midst of the action."

Shaking his head in amusement, Tony turned to lift his face to the breeze and inhale the salty mist in the air.

He laughed when Ducky said, "You know, this reminds me of my time on a freighter in the Atlantic off of the French shoreline. I was but a lad, working with the ship's—"

"Shhh…." Tony interrupted. His ears perked up as he listened intently. He could have _sworn_ he heard the soft rumbling of an engine over the waves crashing against the rocks. But as seconds passed, all he could hear was the whistling of the breeze through the rocks and the crashing waves.

"What is it?" Ducky softly asked, smoothly following to stand near Tony.

Waving an unseen hand in the pitch black, the chief listened intently, before excitedly whispering, "There it is again."

Sure enough, the intermittent coughing and sputtering of an engine sounded, but just barely. Then Tony realized that the moment of truth had arrived. Tapping the elderly medical examiner on the arm, he said, "Stay here," and vaulted for the hatch below.

The light in the back of the small cabin below hit him like a hammer when he bypassed the ladder and landed with a loud thump on the wood floor. At Gibbs' questioning look, he said, "Someone's here."

With a quick turn, he grabbed his shotgun where he'd secured it on the wall, climbed rapidly up top, and headed toward the starboard side. Anyone approaching would have to come straight at him, as Granger's boat occupied the least tumultuous seas within the cove.

"Come on," he murmured to himself, wishing a clearer view of the boat. Part of him wondered just _who_ would be arriving – one of the good guys or a trafficker.

"You ready?" Gibbs asked.

"I was born ready," Tony replied.

Flipping on a handheld spotlight, he swept the beam over the bow of the oncoming vessel. Relief swept through, not because he identified the boat. It was still too damn dark to tell what boat it was, and the torrent of waves upon which it bobbed prevented him from really seeing the markings on the bow. But sweeping the light across the cabin, he caught sight the large antenna shooting out of the top of fishing vessel.

Tony barked a laugh. Because hanging upside down in a sign of distress, someone had hung the American flag.

**X X X**

Tying a couple of boats together in the midst of tumultuous waters turned out to be a hell of a lot harder than Tony thought it would be. The whirling action kept spinning the oncoming boat's engine compartments too close to Granger's small "retiree" vessel.

But even soaked through, Tony felt like laughing when a metal gang plank was thrust from one boat to another and a small figure launched over, nearly tackling him. Captain Mike took most men by surprise. Half the size of everyone else on the boat, she was strong enough to do more and achieve more than most on her crew. Something in which she took great pride.

"I've picked up some precious cargo," she said as soon as her feet hit the deck of Granger's boat.

**X X X**

He'd been prepared to see his oldest dead. As much as it pained him to even think about it, he'd known it was a possibility. That Curt was alive had left him stunned with relief, and he'd numbly made his way below-deck to the bunk compartment. Unlike the small boat the retired Captain Granger kept around, Mike's boat was much larger. Walking through the mess hall, he walked on rubbery legs and pushed the small cabin door open to find Curt laying on the bottom bunk. A deck hand rubbed the kid's pale face with a cool cloth, but rose when Tony approached.

"Chief," the rugged man greeted with a gravelly voice as he stepped out of the way.

Tony didn't trust himself to speak, and instead took the stool near Curt and reached out a trembling hand to run his fingertips over a too-warm forehead.

When his boy was seventeen, Curt had gotten a bronchial infection that left him weak and whimpering for two weeks. He'd barely been able to stand, and had hallucinated about his parents' death during the worst of it.

What Tony saw as he sat by the young Marine's side was even worse.

His boy wasn't moving.

**X X X**

"He kicked me out," Tony sighed as he settled at the table in the larger vessel, across from Ziva and Gibbs. Glancing up at his old boss, he asked, "Granger gone?"

"Yeah. He's heading home to help your deputy coordinate," Gibbs replied. Then he smirked and added, "I think he's missed the action since he retired."

Nodding at the truth of the older man's statement, Tony concurred with the assessment. In reality, it hadn't taken a hell of a lot to convince Granger to give them a night of his time. Not once the old man had understood he'd be a hero.

"So what's the plan?" the chief asked, eyeing his former boss.

After taking a gulp of hot coffee, Gibbs said, "Waiting on you."

It didn't surprise Tony when a small hand squeezed his shoulder, and the woman it belonged to settled into the chair next to him. Studying Michaela, he noted her pallid complexion and the circles under her eyes and sighed. He wasn't the only one running on steam.

"Ducky's with him. Not much I can do," he explained, as he watched the petite woman with curly light brown hair settle next to him. Her deep blue eyes bore into his green, and she ran an index finger down his cheek in response.

"That boy's got a yard o' guts," Michaela softly said, and then smiled. "Not much'll end him. Trust your doc to do his job."

"And I'll do mine. But first I need to know what happened," Tony said, smiling his thanks as a deckhand set a cup of coffee in front of him. Turning back to his lover, he asked, "What happened?"

He didn't miss the way Michaela winced, and couldn't help but roll his eyes before he muttered, "Oh hell. What did you do?"

"Well, ya know that old shell game, where ya hide a pea and shift the shells around? Ya kinda need three shells for a single pea," she said.

After a long pause, where she sipped on her coffee, she smiled tightly and continued, "The boats are the shells."

"And Curt's the pea," Tony concluded for her.

"Naw," she replied. "Curt's not the pea. That would be the bag of drugs Gibbs is sittin' on."


	12. Chapter 11

******Title: Facing Forward  
Author:** CSIGeekFan**  
****Rating:** T (mild language)**  
****Disclaimer: **This is a disclaimer, because I don't want to get sued. So here it is. It's complicated, and filled with legal-eze. Ready? I don't own NCIS.**  
Author's Note:** I am well and truly sorry for the delay. After my laptop's 4th power supply this year started smoking (and I mean that in a literal way), I was without a means to write for a bit. Then some RL emergencies cropped up and I've been swamped ever since. I hope you enjoy. Reviews are appreciated.

**X X X**

_**From last chapter…**_

…"_The boats are the shells."_

"_And Curt's the pea," Tony concluded for Michaela._

"_Naw," she replied. "Curt's not the pea. That would be the bag of drugs Gibbs is sittin' on."_

**X X X**

Tony just stared at Michaela with a mix of fear and awe. Damn, but the woman was devious. Then he laughed after she shrugged and said, "Saw it in a movie once."

Glancing at Gibbs, he watched the older man shake his head in disbelief, while Ziva looked on in amusement.

"Where are the other vessels?" Tony asked, grinning at his woman's ingenuity.

"Don't rightly know just yet. We've been using short burst on the hour to transmit common name locations," she explained and then took a long draught of her coffee. When she added a sigh, he couldn't help but admire the way she'd handled the entire situation so far. She looked the part of tough sea captain; no one ever doubted her abilities, regardless of size.

As Tony watched his lover, his former partner slipped from her seat and removed the plastic-encased bricks duct taped to the bottom of Gibbs chair; thin enough to be hidden by the thick lip below his seat. If someone weren't on the floor, they'd never notice the stash.

"So, this is what they are after," she murmured, admiring the hiding spot. "Clever."

"Yeah, I swapped 'em off another boat a few hours back. We've been handin' the stash around, trying to confuse the boat following us," Michaela said. "It finally settled here, since we have the boy." Glancing at Tony and holding his gaze, she added, "We hoped you'd figure it out and come with the cavalry."

Under her praise, Tony couldn't help but feel a great deal of pride toward the captain and her crew. The affirmation of his choices these last years to stay put in his boondocks town felt good. He'd made the right choice. That led his mind to the young Marine nearby, who lay pale and silent.

"The boy kept insisting you'd know to meet us here," Michaela softly said, running her hand down Tony's jacket-clad arm. When she ran a knuckle over his cheek, his breath stuttered out and he turned his attention to her warm gaze. She would understand how terrified he was, he mused. Of everyone there, she'd be the one to know just how much Curt and his sisters meant. And in her eyes, he saw that spark of recognition wrapped in sympathy. With a nod, he blew out a rapid breath and got to business, because the situation wasn't about to resolve itself.

He turned his attention to Gibbs.

"The only place Curt and I came out alone was this inlet," Tony explained. "He wouldn't let the girls go with us. Too dangerous. I agreed, once I'd been out here and we'd spent some time playing in the caves."

Then he grinned and added, "Curt can drive a small power boat like no one else, and docked us in the cove on a calm day. We spent a few hours playing _Swiss Family Robinson_, although he'll insist it was more _Lord of the Flies_."

For a moment, the occupants of the galley let silence surround them after Tony's explanation, until the police chief's mind began to wander once again. As if reading his mind, Michaela stopped any worry or brooding before it could begin.

"It's time," she announced, slapping her hands on the table for attention, and rising slowly. Just a few steps away, she flipped on the radio. It took a few minutes, but Morse code finally flowed across the channel, and she scribbled violently at a piece of scrap paper. It took several minutes, because as soon as one set of codes ended, another began, until she tossed down her pen, flipped off the radio and sighed heavily.

Frustration leaked into her voice, when she said, "Some of the boys on these seas might make damn fine fishermen, but they have no imagination."

Tony didn't dare argue the point – that they were doing something way outside of most people's ability by playing games with drug traffickers. He didn't want to incur his lover's wrath. So instead, he waited, while she calmed.

"Both of 'em are just around the bend. I told 'em _not_ to stay together, but they did," she explained. Stalking over, Captain Mike popped her head up through the hatch and yelled to the crew, "Engines up. Time to head out."

"What aren't you telling me?" Tony asked, when he noted how Michaela wouldn't look him in the eyes.

"Oh, probably the part where, since they decided to hide together, they got caught together," she muttered. Finally meeting his gaze, she added, "They've been boarded."

"The other boat captains told you that?" Ziva asked, confused by the prospect. The bad guys would lose the element of surprise if they had allowed the captains to actually state that they had been boarded.

"Nope," came the captain's reply. "They gave me coordinates. Only reason to give me coordinates is if they haven't got any reason to hide their location anymore. We used common names before, because only the locals would know 'em."

"Well, it could be worst," Tony replied with a grin.

When everyone looked at him like he'd lost his mind, he shrugged and said, "Hey, I'm just trying to keep the spirits up here. You all looked like you were about to cry."

**X X X**

"Just once more, explain to me why we are doing this?" Captain Mike asked as the vessel drew close to the mouth of the inlet and aimed towards open seas.

"You know me. I like the action," Tony replied, earning an amused snort from the woman at the wheel.

Behind the police chief, Gibbs rolled his eyes and muttered, "Same old smart-ass answer for everything, huh?"

The last thing Tony expected was Michaela to go all Rambo on Gibbs, but the petite woman never held back when riled. So he watched in amusement as she half-turned, with one hand on the wheel, and the other pointed at the NCIS team leader, and ground out, "I don't know why he thinks highly of ya, if you're this big of an ass."

She paused for all of three seconds before dropping her pointing hand and asked, "Do you have any idea the damage you did to him? The shape he was in when he landed in our town? Pitiful! That's how I'd describe him. Pitiful."

Tony couldn't help the way his cheeks burned. He also knew he had no control over the woman in front of him, and he _really_ didn't want to look back at his old boss. Actually, he wanted to slink away and maybe jump over the side.

At least she'd taken a deep breath before more calmly adding, "Tony couldn't decide to fish or cut bait the first year here. He didn't have much of a choice when we tossed the kids his way. It was as good a reason as any to make him stay, though."

Well, that was a revelation, Tony mused. He'd talked to everyone in town after the kids' parents died, trying to get someone to take his three kids. It had never occurred to him that they worried about him leaving, and got everyone to deny responsibility for the trio to give him a purpose. Looking back, he couldn't deny the need to fit in somewhere. By then, he'd lost himself so completely, he'd momentarily contemplated just… ceasing. But just momentarily. Enough to wake him up.

Grateful for the silence, he watched Michaela turn back to focus on steering them around the side of the island. In place of the soft woman who could melt in his arms, the persona of Captain Mike stood out. Maybe that was why they got along as well as they did. Neither minded when the other wore a mask.

Pride filled him at the chances she'd taken, because he had no doubt she'd been scared to death. His lover didn't fear the sea, injury, or even death; but she feared the unknown. Dealing with illegal narcotics and gunshot wounds wouldn't have been easy on her – especially with it being Curt at the bad end of it. The boy might not be hers in the way he was Tony's, but she loved Curt all the same.

Reaching out, Tony gently squeezed her shoulder and felt her stiff muscle loosen under his palm. They both knew she needed to be calm. Soon they'd round the bend to the outer edge of the islands, where they would find the other fishing boats. They'd be going in with guns blazing.

McGee might be bringing the Coast Guard in from the south, but they were hours behind. The reinforcement from the north, with Ian, would arrive sooner, but not soon enough. No, the best they could hope was that those who labored on the fishing vessels knew well enough to drop down when the first bullet rang out.

At least Tony had one thing going for him.

The feral glint in his eyes contradicted the smile on his face, when he said, "We know to expect the worst. The bastards that started this don't know we're coming."

With those words, Gibbs slid out of sight with a gun in each hand to join Ziva out of sight near the railing.

Giving Michaela a quick kiss, he caught her eye and said, "When it starts, head below. I need to know you're all safe."

For once, she didn't tell him not to worry or roll her eyes. Instead, she kissed him back, and said, "Of course. Me and the boys'll be hiding with Curt until you come and get us."

With a nod, he headed out, as adrenaline kicked in. He was ready for a fight.


	13. Chapter 12

**Title: Facing Forward  
Author:**CSIGeekFan**  
Rating:**T (language)**  
Disclaimer:**I don't own NCIS. If I owned NCIS… excuse me while I fantasize about what I'd do…**  
Author's Note:** I'm always pleased to receive reviews. They let me know if you're enjoying the story. Thank you for taking the time to read it.

**X X X**

It never occurred to Tony that everyone around him, including Michaela and her crew, could be so deceptive on command. Christ, just two months ago the youngest deckhand, Angus, had lied to Tony's face about leaning his bicycle against the wet paint outside Ruthie's Café. The kid's cheeks had flamed red, followed by his ears, and the young man had damn near wept his confession. All within thirty seconds.

So the police chief watched with a great deal of pride and trepidation as the eighteen-year-old in question stood tall and guilelessly lied to a gun-toting bad guy.

When they'd pulled around the bend, with Tony, Gibbs and Ziva hidden behind railings and sporting handguns, the law enforcement officers had expected to have a slight advantage. After all, it was a classic setup – the bad guys never suspected a bunch of simple fishermen could pull one over on them. And holy hell, those "simple" fisher-folk played their parts to perfection; acting frightened and witless.

"I dunno anythin' about a package," Angus innocently mumbled. The police chief, hidden just out of sight, near the railing where Angus stood, smirked as the boy batted his innocent eyes, like a simpleton. "Let me ask the captain. Cappy knows everything. Me? I'm just a bait boy."

_Bait boy, my ass,_ Tony mused. The kid had graduated with honors, and was working a few years to save up enough cash to go to college. But with his wild, curly blond locks, and big blue eyes, most never expected the wit or intelligence behind the baby face.

Glancing across the decking, Tony caught sight of Ziva (hidden barely out of sight), and watched her count three men on the invading vessel. From her perch, she could see across the short expanse separating the vessel.

As Angus turned to signal the captain and Mike descended the ladder, Tony caught each NCIS agents' gaze in turn. Just three steps. That was all Tony needed Angus to walk before the kid would be at the hatch leading below. Angus could easily dive through the opening; and Michaela could easily slide down from her perch above, slickly falling all the way to the galley below in a single motion.

Tony just needed the kid to move a little more – get the hell out of the line of fire. As it was, most other were already below-deck, waiting. The two seasoned fishermen remaining above-deck knew their role and would simply drop and roll around the corner and out of the line of fire once it all started. Right now, though, Tony needed Angus and Michaela to play their parts and _move_.

Angus's actions became stiff in a flash, and the police chief held his breath. _Of course_ the kid would be terrified. Who wouldn't be? Adrenaline only propelled a man so far, and at the moment, Angus stood stock still, facing away from the smuggler not even twenty feet away in the other boat. Michaela must be terrified, too.

"Hurry the hell up," the smuggler shouted, providing the incentive for Angus to exhale a pent-up breath and finally take the last step toward the Captain. That's when she tilted her head and caught Tony's eyes. But she didn't look terrified. Captain Mike looked pissed.

And that was all he needed to see.

**X X X**

Later, when asked, Tony would probably say it was out of The Matrix, the way the trio of good guys fired on the trio of bad guys; how they vaulted up and over structures, spinning in mid air, dropping clips, reloading, and firing again. A navy blue down jacket just didn't compare to the long black trench Keanu Reeves wore. But the effect was the same.

A ballet of blood and bullets.

From the corner of his eye, Tony saw Ziva fire half a clip into one of the men on the nearby boat. Gibbs took one of them out with a single bullet, but took one himself near the wrist of his gun hand. Tony and Gibbs together hit the third man repeatedly in the chest.

"Hey boss," Tony began, shaking his head and grinning, as his former boss sloughed off his jacket to examine his wound. "Next time, duck."

"Cute, DiNozzo," Gibbs muttered, showing off the paltry flesh wound as Tony eyed the boat still tied down to Captain Mike's vessel.

"Let me check it out," Tony said, nodding toward the boat.

With a tilt of his head, Tony let the others know to cover him as he swung up to stand up on the railing and jump over the abnormally calm water below. Seriously, how hard could it be? He realized his error, though, as soon as he vaulted.

He should've made sure his gun was drawn, just in case Ziva hadn't seen a fourth person…

**X X X**

His chest burned.

That thought drifted through his mind as he tried to open his eyes. His chest burned and his head ached. Then the light sounds that went with a hospital room seeped into his consciousness. That motivated the lead weights on his eyes to move off enough for him to open them just a crack.

As he fought to stay awake, Michaela – the soft part of her that he worshipped – broke through and she held his hand. All he could focus on was the hazy image of her face, smiling at him as his eyes drifted open and closed over and over. Before he slipped back into a blissfully unaware state once again, his nerves settled at her words, "You've kept us safe. Now rest."

Yep, his girl was a bossy bit of goods.

And he did rest; slowly slipping in and out of dreams. Oddly, he had conversations about Magnum with Gibbs in his mind, all the while watching as his former boss built a boat in his basement and then magically stuffed it into a bottle. Even McGee showed up in his wandering mind, sometimes with Ziva in tow.

Ziva became a regular, though. His dreams about her startled him more often than not, because they included Michaela and the kids, upon occasion. He'd been so careful to keep those worlds separate; to keep that piece of him locked away – the piece of himself that he'd never wanted to see again.

He dreamed of Curt, Mary, and Emily most often. More often than not, his mind conjured up the dinner table. People would come and go, with conversation flowing from sports to school. But he and his kids remained the constant.

On the fourth day, Tony's dreams finally ended, though.

When he opened his eyes, they remained that way.

"Pops," Mary whispered, scooting her chair close to the police chief.

Tony couldn't help but admire the way she shook off the obvious worry and gave him the most dazzling smile. Just yesterday she'd been Emily's age – petulant, angry, and sad over the injustices dealt her. But today…

"You're gonna be fine, Pops. Ducky said so," she earnestly explained.

The police chief always thought his brain was nothing more than a gearbox at times. It took a moment for the wheels to turn, the teeth to bind, and something to _chink_ into place. In this case, it all came back in a flash, and he struggled to move.

"No, don't do that," Mary said, before shouting over her shoulder, "I NEED HELP!"

The next ten minutes became a blur of activity, with Tony's mind racing to catch up. Curt missing. Hurt. Smugglers. Guns. Gibbs. NCIS.

By the time the nurses got Tony sitting up a little, and he'd been mildly sedated, the on-call doctor sauntered in and grinned.

"You've taken a bit of a beating, Chief," the young man stated. All the while, Tony took in the boyish face, the thin-as-rail body and wondered how the hell he'd managed to end up with Doogie Howser as his doctor.

"I'm Dr. Keller," the young man said, flipping through the chart on the end of the bed. Smiling, he added, "The bullet went between the ribs and managed to miss everything on the way in. However, on the way out, it chipped off a piece of a rib, which in turn pierced your lung."

"M'kay," Tony thickly replied, nodding his understanding. That explained the nasal cannula he currently sported. It also explained the sore throat.

"You woke up a few days ago, but I was forced to sedate you when you fought the ventilation tube," Keller continued. "I took you off the transquilizers this morning when we took you off the vent, and we've been waiting on you to make an appearance ever since."

And while that was all fine and dandy, Tony really didn't give a damn. His mind was stuck on one question.

"Where's Curt?"


	14. Chapter 13

**Title: Facing Forward  
Author:**CSIGeekFan**  
Rating:**T (mild language)**  
Disclaimer:**This is a disclaimer. Had this been anything other than a disclaimer, this message would have been preceded by a whole lot of joyful screaming, wailing, and singing. However, since this is a disclaimer, I must not own NCIS. Which just sucks.**  
Author's Note:** I hope you enjoy. Please leave me a review and let you know what you think; I really do enjoy feedback.

**X X X**

The next time Tony opened his eyes, it was to find the biggest, bluest eyes staring straight into his own.

"Hey, kid," he thickly said, trying to wipe away the fatigue weighing on his limbs.

"Hey, Pops," Emily softly replied, smiling tremulously.

His heart broke a little when the girl's eyes filled and she bent her head down to sniffle into Tony's shoulder.

"S'okay, honey," Tony murmured, painfully scooting up so he could wrap an arm around his little girl. A decade ago, had anyone told him he wouldn't care how bad it hurt to have a child burrow into his injured chest, he would've told 'em they were wacked. Yet as Em held onto him tight enough to cause fire to shoot through his sternum, he didn't care.

He didn't notice that Emily wasn't alone, either, until the chair in the corner wheeled forward, and Curt brought himself into view.

Tony could only stare in relief as his oldest child approached, looking remarkably healthy, sporting bandages on his head and across his bare stomach and chest. At the police chief's concerned frown, Curt flicked his wrist, rolled right up to the bed and grinned wide. Then in a fluid motion, he stood and sent the chair careening away.

"It's all good, Pops," he said, smiling wide, moving with ease. Seemed like Curt had been a shaggy-haired kid just yesterday. But in front of him, Tony found a man… until Curt winked. Yeah, there was the kid they all loved. Part serious young man, part flirt, part smart-ass.

And as quickly as the glint appeared in the young man's eyes, it disappeared, and he turned somber.

Tony watched with a welling of pride as his boy settled on the edge of the bed and grasped the chief's hand.

"I didn't mean to cause so much trouble, Pops," he earnestly said, squeezing Tony's hand.

"You didn't," the police chief replied, staring into the eyes of the young Marine. "This wasn't you – if anything, you did the smart thing. The right thing."

"I could've gotten you killed," Curt murmured, breaking eye contact for the first time and diverting his gaze down to the thin white blanket covering Tony's legs.

The older man lay quiet, waiting for the younger man to gather his emotions; fatigue swam around his leaden limbs, and he could feel his eyes growing heavy. Yet Tony couldn't just let Curt sink into these feelings. The kid didn't deserve this.

So he waited, battling the onslaught of weariness, until Curt finally looked up into his eyes.

"I spent years doing this," Tony explained. "I've been shot, stabbed, poisoned. I've been the victim of a biological attack. I've gone up against terrorists, been on the business end of bombs. Plural. And I've watched a lot of friends die. Most died in the line of fire. A few didn't."

Drawing a deep breath, Tony let the images of Caitlin Todd pass through his mind. It still hurt, even after all these years. As a fine mist built up in his eyes, he continued, "And through it all, I knew I could survive the loss of my friends."

Flipping his hand over, Tony gripped Curt's palm, squeezed tight, and said, "I got past each of their deaths. I'd never get over yours."

The hum of the overhead lights filled the room as the two men, neither used to emotional displays, slowly let their worlds equalize.

Eventually, from where she'd retreated to sit and spin around in the wheelchair, Emily piped up, "Are you two having a Hallmark moment?"

X X X

For the most part, Tony slept the day away, waking up only to eat and say his goodbyes to his former teammates as they headed back to the nation's capital. Every time Tony started to become alert, a nurse walked in, smiled benignly, and injected something to make him sleep. All because of his damn lungs. Again.

This last time, though, he stayed awake. For the last twenty minutes, he and Curt had been sitting quietly, talking. The police chief hadn't realized just how much he'd missed these quiet talks with the only other man in the house.

The older man's mood had soured, though, when the doctor had broken the bad news. Unfortunately, Michaela and the girls had walked into the room just as the physician left.

"Ignore him," Curt told the newly arrived visitors. "He's annoyed because he has to stay and I get to go home."

Pouting, the police chief glared at his kid, giving him the evil eye, only to find he couldn't muster up the energy. Not with so many people in the room. And especially not when Michaela sauntered over, leaned down, and kissed him languidly.

Which raised his mood considerably.

"So that was for…?" he asked.

"Consider it payment in advance for not being a complete ass while you recover," she replied with a smirk, making sure to pet him soothingly.

It wasn't until he damn near purred that Tony realized he'd just been played, and reached up to regrettably stop the stroking hand.

The first time his lover had ever stroked his hair, Tony had been hit with such a massive bout of homesickness that he'd bolted out of her bed. That simple touch of her hand, the very first time they'd slept together, had sent him into an emotional upheaval. For days, he'd avoided talking to her. They'd eventually had a massive fight in which he'd finally admitted to completely freaking out; but not before she'd asked if he was gay.

The next time she'd run her fingers through his hair, making sure to stop and caress the back of his head, he'd nearly wept at the sensation. It had been covered quickly, though, leading to other more thoroughly satisfying things. However, she'd noted his reaction.

Michaela had made a habit of finding ways to touch his head, his face, and his neck. Just that bit of contact brought him peace – calming him during the worst of times.

So he couldn't deny her as she slowly disentangled her hand from his and ran her index finger across his cheek, over and over.

"All right," he eventually relented, giving her a glassy-eyed grin.

Boy did he suddenly feel tired. He didn't remember being given a sleeping aid of any kind, but considering how relaxed he felt with his kids smiling from the end of the bed and Michaela soothingly telling him she'd take care of everything, he drifted into sleepy-land.

His last coherent thought had to do with wishing for a jukebox of dreams, so he could drop in a few coins and choose a day of indulgence.

X X X

The first thing Tony noticed when he awoke was that he wasn't alone. It wasn't just that someone else was in the room. Someone lay next to him in the bed. The very small hospital bed.

Grinning, he kissed the top of Emily's head and winked at Mary, who sat in the chair next to him.

"What time is it?" he asked.

"It's nine in the morning. The doctor's going to release you this morning," she replied, primly sitting up in her chair. With an air of authority, the teenager informed him, "Curtis went home with Ian. Ducky's staying at the house and is going to keep an eye on him for a few days."

Which meant someone pulled some strings in the military. Not only had Tony and Curt been flown to a civilian hospital in Bangor, but the boy wasn't being sent immediately back to his unit. That required a few favors.

"Mike's gonna take us home," Emily murmured into Tony's chest, making him grin.

Home. His own bed. The light at the end of the tunnel.

He could get back to his life. That thought alone made his grin turn a smile of satisfaction. It didn't last long, though.

"Oh, yeah. I forgot to tell you," Mary said, with a hint of excitement in her voice. "Your friend Abby's staying with us for a few days. She said you promised to talk to her about some stuff."

Enthusiastically, the teenager leaned in and added, "I really like her, Pops. She's cool."

"Me, too," Emily concurred from where she lay, her eyes still closed.

Tony mulled Abby's visit over in his mind, letting the notion settle into place. Until he'd stepped into her lab and seen her black pigtails bopping to the music, he hadn't realized just how much he'd missed his best friend. Yeah, having her stay would be good – a chance to fix what he broke all those years ago.

So Tony was smiling when Mary added, "I have her using the room Esther was using."

Confused, Tony asked, "Where's Esther staying? Did you move her down to the media room? I thought Ducky was staying there."

"Oh, Ducky _is_ staying in your movie theater. We pulled the Murphy bed out for him," Mary explained. "I'm bunking with Emily. It's just, with Curt back in his room, and you in yours, that only left the couch. Our couches aren't exactly the most comfortable."

Feeling slightly dizzy from the explanation, Tony paused a moment to get it all straight in his head, before he finally said, "That's all fine and dandy, but we have one other room available. The one right across from where you put Abby."

Frowning, he looked at Mary and asked, "Why are you shaking your head 'no'?"

"Oh, it's just that room's taken, too," the teenager explained.

"Oh!" Tony exclaimed. "That's where you moved Esther?"

"Nope, Esther's not staying with us right now. She's using Ian's guest room," Mary explained.

"Why?" Tony asked, thoroughly confused by now.

"Because," Emily explained with an exaggerated roll, "we had to find someplace for Agent Gibbs to stay."

He didn't know if the sense of unease that settled over him bothered him nearly as much as when Mary quietly said, "We like Agent Gibbs. He helped you save Curt."

Whether the older NCIS agent knew it yet or not, and much to Tony's chagrin, that meant he'd just become a member of the family.


	15. Chapter 14

**Title: Facing Forward  
Author:**CSIGeekFan**  
Rating:**T (mild language)**  
Disclaimer:**I don't own NCIS. I'd like it for Christmas, though.**  
Author's Note:** I want to thank everyone for their kind words over the course of this story. There's just a couple more chapters left. Please let me know what you think with a review. Thanks.

**X X X**

For the past several hours, Tony DiNozzo had studiously avoided anyone of the female persuasion by feigning fatigue on the living room couch. He'd been pretty damn successful, too; for he'd finally achieved a little peace and quiet. Then Gibbs had walked into the expansive room overlooking the vast sea, and settled into a nearby chair.

Both men had ended up staring at each other as a thick silence weighed down on them. For half a second, it seemed like Gibbs might actually talk to Tony, but then Emily had walked into the room, tugged on the NCIS agent's hand, and Gibbs had gone off to play with a restless child. That had been half an hour ago.

So finally, Tony found himself blissfully alone.

"You're a coward," Curt said from the doorway, leaning against the arched opening, with his arms crossed.

The tell-tale grin on the young man's face made Tony roll his eyes and attempt to ignore the kid; but Curt didn't have the same idea. Instead of taking the hint, the clean-shaven Marine slowly made his way into the room and settled into the chair Gibbs had just vacated.

"Tryin' to sleep here," Tony muttered and closed his eyes. "Doctor's orders. I'm supposed to rest."

Curt snorted a laugh and replied, "Uh huh. You never listen to doctors, so why would you start now?" He paused before restating, "You're a coward."

"How do you come up with that?" Tony asked without bothering to open his eyes. He could practically hear his kid shrug prior to launching into the explanation.

"First, I haven't seen you say more than half a dozen words at a time to the man," the young Marine said. "I've never known you to be silent for _anything_."

"Second, more than once you closed your eyes just as Gibbs walked into the room," Curt sardonically added. "If _that_ doesn't scream coward, nothing does. You're afraid to talk to him."

"And third?" Tony glumly asked. "There's always a third."

"Actually, I just got those two," the Marine smartly replied. "That's enough proof for me – and for Mike."

"Since when did you talk to Michaela about me?" Tony darkly asked, sitting up. Even after being home, his chest still ached, and probably would for several weeks longer. It irritated him to no end, and what was left of his mood took a nosedive.

"Pops, Mike and I worry about you," Curt softly said, all humor gone from his expression.

Swinging his legs over the edge of the couch and patting the seat next to him, the older man watched as the young man moved over. For several moments, the two men studied one another, until Tony said, "I'm okay, and so are you."

Holding up a hand to stave off Curt's comments, the police chief continued, "I've got a good life. I've got three great kids, companionship, and a town full of people that I've grown attached to in a dysfunctional kind of way. There's nothing to worry about."

"Yeah, there is," the young Marine contradicted. Sadly, he added, "There's always been something missing – something Mary, Emily and I could never give you. I've always seen it in your eyes."

"Curt-"

"No, let me finish," Curt interrupted. "I always thought maybe you missed your own family – your parents. You never talk about them. All we know is that your dad's still alive, but your mother died when you were a kid. And the look in your eyes sometimes… it's like you're missing your family. I know the girls and I get the same look sometimes."

Tony watched with pride as the younger man sat up straight, shook off the sadness of his own loss and finally said, "I get missing family. It is what it is. I just never realized your parents weren't your family."

"Then who is my family?" Tony asked, amused by the young man's theory.

"You left 'em at the Navy Yard," Curt solemnly replied. "Don't let them walk out of here. Don't lose them again."

As the young man rose and walked out of the room, Tony felt… a cross between embarrassed at being told off by a kid, and proud that the kid was his. Staring off into space, he didn't realize he wasn't alone until the other occupant cleared his throat.

"That's what you did, y'know… left us behind. You ran away from home," Gibbs said.

Tony's cheeks flushed in embarrassment, not only at the comment from his former partner, but at how close to the mark the man had come to the truth – at least part of it. And that it was all being vocalized. There was a big difference between admitting something to yourself and having it tossed verbally in your face. He hated feeling that way. Hell, he was middle-aged, and still felt like a wayward child in the eyes of the former Marine.

The feeling should be familiar, though, considering his father often made him feel the same.

Searching his former boss's eyes, Tony tried to find a glimmer of something other than the typical stoic reserve. When he didn't see it, he sighed and tried to settle his jumping nerves. At that very, the refrain from a self-help tape ran through his mind, _Feelings are the window to the self-recognized soul, and your window is clean._

Snorting a laugh, he tried to cover up his response with a cough. However, when he glanced back at Gibbs, the man's expression had changed.

In place of the stoniness, Tony found a deep scowl. For some strange reason, it made him feel a hell of a lot better. He'd rather deal with a pissed Gibbs over a quiet Gibbs any day.

"I wasn't a petulant kid, boss," Tony replied, half-wondering if he'd get slapped for the response, especially when he added, "and it wasn't like you didn't have a clue it was coming."

The scowl turned fierce when Gibbs ground out, "The hell I didn't. _No one_ saw it coming."

_And wasn't that sad?_ Tony thought. Because Ducky _had_, and while Tony had been close to the M.E., he'd been closer to the NCIS agent who'd brought him out of Baltimore. For years, Tony had thought of D.C. as his home – a place he might actually fit. Because at the end of the day, the fact that he wasn't the brightest bulb in the box didn't seem to matter. Gibbs had always appreciated his innate ability to read what motivated people.

Sitting up straighter, and pulling in a deep, semi-painful breath, Tony found something he'd been missing for a lot of years. The one thing he'd never been able to give the man who'd meant so much to him.

The words.

"You might be right," he admitted, giving Gibbs a sly grin. "I ran away from home, which is kinda ridiculous, considering I was a grown man."

"Then maybe you should've acted like it," the NCIS agent retorted. Anger vibrated in thick waves from him, and for a moment, Tony wondered if maybe Gibbs would storm away. That had never been the older man's style, though. No… Gibbs tended to hit things head-on; more often than not with a quick smack to the back of the head.

That thought actually settled peacefully inside Tony's clenched stomach and the police chief relaxed. Quietly, he said, "I was doing the only think I knew how to do, Gibbs. The only thing that made sense under the circumstances."

"What circumstances?"

The anger in Gibbs voice matched the man's actions as he paced to the window. With the sea behind him on the other side of the panes, he asked, "What the hell are you talking about, DiNozzo?"

"Do you remember the last case?" Tony quietly asked. He did – he'd never forgotten it.

They'd spent months chasing down murderers, drug dealers, human traffickers. The scum of the earth had become so common to him, he could feel their filth on him no matter how much he tried to wash it away. He really did try to wash it away, too. More than once, he'd scrubbed until his skin hurt in hopes of getting rid of that film of filth. And then one day, it happened. A Marine's little boy had been kidnapped.

"Ethan McCormick," Gibbs replied, his face softening in memory.

They'd fought, tooth and nail; searched high and low. And after all those months of constant work, no breaks, and little or no sleep, all it took was one little boy to bring Tony to the brink.

"We found him," the NCIS agent said, watching the younger man closely.

Under the scrutiny, Tony dropped his gaze to the area rug under the couch and swallowed the rising lump in his throat. Pulling in a deep, calming breath, he nodded and said, "Beautiful. Big brown eyes. His mother cried so hard… I didn't know what to do."

"You did a good thing, being there for her," Gibbs said, slowly approaching and taking the seat next to Tony once again. "But I don't understand. What does Ethan have to do with this?"

Raising his eyes, Tony looked his former boss in the eyes when he replied, "I couldn't take it anymore. I was just too tired."

"Tony, you _found_ that little boy _alive_. You brought him home."

For a moment, Tony looked beyond Gibbs to the steel seas. Any regret in leaving his friends and family behind in D.C. evaporated as one of Emily's beloved crystals (hung from nearly every room in the house) twisted just enough to catch the light, and his eyes. There he found his answer.

"So much happened all at once. This pressure had been pounding down on me, day after day," he explained. "I knew in my guts I'd lost the respect of everyone around me. Hell, I'd lost respect in myself long ago. When I brought that little boy home, I thought maybe I wasn't such a complete failure after all. For about two hours."

"Why didn't you talk to me?" Gibbs asked. "Why leave?"

For years, Tony had thought his explanation might sound foolish. But as he sat there on the couch, thinking of all his kids had experienced, he realized he'd been as wounded as they when fate had thrown them together. Smiling sadly, he finally replied.

"I tried to, Gibbs. But then something happened, and it was just too much. Call it the final straw."

At the older NCIS agent's questioning look, Tony shrugged, and said, "You locked your door."


	16. Chapter 15

**Title: Facing Forward  
Author:**CSIGeekFan**  
Rating:**T (mild language)  
**Beta:**I didn't have one, so any errors are mine. :)**  
Disclaimer:**I don't own NCIS. The thought of owning NCIS makes me giddy, though. And drinking a small glass of wine makes me giddy. So, by that logic, if I drink a small glass of wine and become giddy, does that mean I own NCIS?**  
Author's Note:** I want to thank everyone who stuck this out with me. I apologize for the delays between these last few chapters. I didn't want to say anything before, as I didn't want to jinx it, but I quit smoking in the process of writing this story and needed to spend some time away from my laptop (hence the delayed chapters). However, it's been two and a half months, and I'm feeling more comfortable in my environment now. For those who knew and gave me encouraging words... thank you. For those who have reviewed this story as it went along, it's been appreciated. I hope you enjoy the final chapter.

**X X X**

From the previous chapter…

_"I tried to, Gibbs. But then something happened, and it was just too much. Call it the final straw."_

_At the older NCIS agent's questioning look, Tony shrugged, and said, "You locked your door."_

**X X X**

"I locked my door," Gibbs repeated, the incredulous look on his face making Tony feel more than a little ridiculous. And maybe embarrassed. And maybe kinda like a foolish kid. "The same front door for which you have the _only_ spare key?"

"Well… yeah," the former agent meekly replied, trying to ignore the flaming of his cheeks. "That door."

"Well, hell, DiNozzo, why didn't you just _use the damn key_?" Gibbs asked.

From his former boss's tone, Tony figured he had two choices. One, explain in a more coherent manner, so that he and the man who'd once been mentor could mend their broken ways (and yes, perhaps have that Movie of the Week moment in a non-gay kind of way). Or two, he could babble.

In times like this, a few people could make the former NCIS agent's brain turn off. One stood in front of him, with a raised brow, awaiting an explanation.

"See, Boss, it's like this…" And the rush of embarrassment that had overwhelmed, settled bone deep, and Tony began to talk. It took him three minutes, the topic of neuroses (particularly those required to work for NCIS), and a head slap to take a breath.

"Stopping," he muttered, rubbing the back of his head.

In the past, he would've warily watched the older man set him straight – either with a reprimand, a smile, or in some other tangible manner. After all the Gunny could be tough, but fair.

It wasn't until Gibbs sank back into the arm chair, tilted his head up to the ceiling and sighed aloud that Tony suddenly saw the changes the years had made.

Whether it was the light streaming in through the windows or the way his own aged eyes perceived, Tony saw age – the way his former boss's hair showed just a little more white and a little less silver; the slightly more pronounced lines around the lips; the age spots starting to appear lightly on the neck (and they hadn't been there before).

That realization grounded Tony in a way nothing else could. And in the midst of the ensuing silence, his gut settled.

"I spent most of my life knowing I'd never measure up," he quietly explained. When Gibbs turned his gaze back to the younger man, he continued, "It had nothing to do with you, although towards the end I felt like I'd let you down, too. Everything had fallen apart, starting with Kate. It seemed like feeling crappy was just the way I was supposed spend my life. My penance."

When Gibbs opened his mouth, the younger man quietly interjected, "Let me finish."

After the NCIS agent nodded brusquely, Tony continued, "I spent years with every crap thing happening to me. Plague. Dead friends. Deceit. Pain. Wounds. Loss. So damn much loss." He stopped his recitation as a soft cough swept through him. It didn't help he choked on the list, and bile rose in his throat. So he closed his eyes and breathed in deep. Once he'd settled, he quietly said, "It seemed like I'd earned it all – run the gamut. And I was okay with that, because I'd grown accustomed to it. But then we found that little boy, and…"

Unable to find the right words, he paused, searching in vain; but he needn't worry about it. Because Gibbs provided them well enough.

"You felt good," Gibbs said, his face showing a dawning understanding of just how far down the dismal path his former agent had gone.

"I felt _great_," Tony clarified. And he had. The moment he'd found that kid, something in him turned on for the first time in so long, it had blinded him. Thinking of the child, he smiled sadly and added, "It was the most amazing feeling. It also faded as quickly as it arrived, and I had to wonder."

"About whether or not the job was worth it?" Gibbs asked.

"No – about whether or not I really cared if I lived or died anymore," he replied. "And that scared the shit out of me."

"Then why didn't you come talk to me?" Gibbs asked, exasperation evident in his tone.

"I tried. Your door was locked," Tony replied. "And while I may have had the key, I'd never used it before. I'd never needed to, 'cause your door's never locked." Very quietly, he said, "I didn't know if you'd just boot my ass out the door. I don't think I coulda taken that, boss. Not sure I would've made it home with my SIG still fully loaded."

That statement, so softly spoken, hung in the air between the two men. For his part, Gibbs tried to gain and hold Tony's gaze, while the younger man did his best to stare at the floor, his hands, just about everywhere _except_ the NCIS agent. It wasn't until Gibbs quietly said, "Well, hell, Tony… I don't know what to say," that the younger man finally looked up.

"There wasn't anything you _could_ say. I hit the end of what I could take. And as much as I may have needed the support, I needed more than you could give," he sorrowfully replied. "I needed to stand on my own two feet, and it gave me the kick in the ass I needed to make some changes."

At that point, Emily flew in the front door, laughing loudly at something Abby had said, and pranced into the room like a typical pre-teen, caught in her own world between the teenage world and still being his little girl. Smiling, Tony reached out to hold the younger girl's hand as he glanced at Gibbs and wryly said, "Most days I think they're the best changes in the world."

X X X

After baring his soul, Tony climbed up the stairs to his bedroom. Atop the house, the crow's nest looked out like a lighthouse. Most wouldn't care for the exposure. Tony had hidden everything so deep, he didn't mind the world being able to see within the confines of his private space.

Besides, if he really wanted a little privacy, he closed the drapes.

Dropping into his recliner, he kicked his feet up, leaned back, and dropped a blanket over his legs. The chair sat positioned in his favorite spot, with his favorite view. Crystals hung from every window in the round room, courtesy of Emily. As a small child, she'd loved to look at rainbows.

The older she got, the more she loved them. They were a remnant of her life before – a special piece of continuity, as Emily had inherited her love of their shine from her mother.

He heard her shoes first, as she clomped up the last few spiral steps, and smiled.

"I've missed you," Abby simply said, walking over and settling into Tony's bed. With her hands behind her head, she turned her head and grinned wickedly when she said, "I always knew you'd make beautiful babies."

Tony snorted a laugh before replying, "Uh, Abs, in case you didn't notice, they're not exactly _mine_."

"Don't you dare say that again, mister!" she retorted, indignantly. "Of _course_ they're yours."

He rolled his eyes when he said, "You know what I mean."

"Yeah, I do. But they're still yours, and they're beautiful," she said. Tony could practically hear the squeal in her voice when she added, "And Em calls me 'Aunt Abby'. How cute is that?"

Chuckling, Tony tipped his head back, closed his eyes, and let himself relax into the recliner. As he slowly let general tiredness take over and draw him into sleep, he couldn't help but think Abby was right. He really did make beautiful babies.

X X X

Ducky, Abby and Curtis left within a week. Not that anyone had seen much of the elderly medical examiner. Michaela had taken him into town at one point, introduced him to a couple of old fishermen who loved to tell tales of their younger days, and no one had seen the man except when he popped in to check on Curtis (now mostly healed), and Tony (who was recovering more rapidly than expected).

The police chief had wanted to drive his kid to the airport, but had been stopped cold when the young Marine had refused. So instead, Tony and the girls stood on the front porch as Ian loaded the bags into the jeep and slid behind the wheel.

"You'll visit," Abby stated. The look she gave him dared him to argue. Tony had no doubt she'd do something drastic if he didn't, and nodded. Her look softened when she hugged him in a death grip and loudly whispered, "Bring the girls."

As she sniffled pitifully, she waved her hand in front of her face, gave each of Tony's daughters a quick, gentle hug, and nearly ran for the jeep.

Giving Tony a wide smile, the ME stepped forward and offered both hands with which to affectionately grip both of the police chief's hands. The twinkle in his eye didn't fade as he sternly said, "Next time, my boy, just ask me to visit. Don't go getting yourself sick or injured."

"Thanks, Duck," Tony replied with an warm smile. Squeezing the older man's hands lightly, he added, "And give Jimmy and his family my best."

"Ah, yes. Young Mr. Palmer will soon have his own little ones to watch over," Ducky said. "Such a happy time for your young 'Autopsy Gremlin'. I believe that's what you call him."

With that last bit, Ducky moved off at a more sedate pace. Tony wasn't worried about seeing the medical examiner again, as the chief had already heard rumors that one of the old men down at the docks had offered a trip out onto the rough waters – a chance for two old codgers to relive their youth. That had been planned for late in the summer.

Shaking his head in amusement, Tony turned to Curt, and a lump formed solidly in his throat. And much to both of their embarrassment, he pulled the Marine into a tight hug, kissed him solidly on the cheek, and felt a couple droplets run out of his eyes and down his cheeks.

"Geez, Pops," the young man muttered. "I'm only going back to Norfolk. It's not like it's on a different _planet_ or anything."

Tony rubbed his hands over his face, trying to wipe away any sign of sudden bout of weeping, and gave his kid a watery laugh. It only took a deep breath to calm his nerves, before he looked the young man in the eyes, put his hands on his shoulders, and squeezed gently.

"You've made your parents proud," Tony said, gulping back the slow swelling of emotion that threatened to rise again.

"I know my mom and dad are proud of me," Curtis quietly replied. "But it means even more that _you're_ proud of me."

Before either man could do something ridiculous, like fall into each others arms and weep uncontrollably, Mary stepped between them, gaining both their attention.

"I'll miss you," she said, wrapping her arms around her big brother's waist, laying her head on his chest, and murmuring, "Be safe."

As she stepped back, Emily took her place. The youngest didn't deal well with farewells. She never had, and for a moment, Tony held his breath in fear she'd break down as she had when Curt first went off to Basic Training. It was with a great deal of pride, though, that he watched his eleven-year-old cross her arms and start giving orders.

"You'll write every week."

"Yes, ma'am," he solemnly replied.

"You'll call whenever you can."

"Yes, ma'am."

"You'll be safe."

"I'm a Marine," he said. "I'll be as safe as I can be; but I'll do my duty."

"Okay," she replied. "Then I'll let you leave."

Laughing, Curt bent down, picked up his sister, swung her until she squealed and set her back on her feet. Before he let go, though, he whispered, "I love you," and walked away.

Settling into a wicker chair in the mid-morning breeze, Tony watched the jeep pull away, heading down the drive, over a small hill, and out of sight. Maybe life could settle back down again. One thing the police chief had come to appreciate was how quiet life could become. Out in the middle of nowhere, he had time to spend with his family, watch movies on a whim, and just rattle around town. Very different from his NCIS days, when he hadn't had time to breathe.

Where else could a man live, where a family emergency could cause an entire town to agree to reschedule the prom, just so the police chief's daughter could attend?

Smiling, Tony closed his eyes and inhaled deep, thinking of how happy Mary had been when Tommy had told her of the plans – how everyone agreed that it didn't matter _when_ it happened, and just wanted her to be happy. In fact, Mary's boyfriend had been at the house for dinner just the night before, going over the plans once again. He knew his daughter would be getting out the dress, making sure she had everything for the big day.

Slowly stretching, Tony sauntered into the house, thinking about the rite of passage that was the prom, knowing full well half the town would tell him should Tommy so much as look at her wrong. He burst out laughing, though, as he closed the door. Because Mary must've brought the dress downstairs.

"What do you think, Uncle Gibbs?" Mary asked, pulling the protective covering off the stunning garment, smiling at the man the girls had dubbed family.

Gibbs nearly choked on his coffee before muttering in response, "You're wearing a sweater with that."


End file.
